


The Death of Innocence

by whyyesitscar



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F, F/M, S4 Continuation, post 4x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-28
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2019-08-20 07:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16551635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: Basically how everyone found out about Freddie's death. Centering around and spiraling out from Cook.





	1. Cook

It was all black, his vision. You'd think it would be red, what with all the blood, but it wasn't. It was black. He could feel himself punching and kicking the living daylights out of that Foster fucker, but he couldn't see it, couldn't visualize fist obliterating bone. He thought about using the baseball bat, but he couldn't. He wasn't a coward like John Foster—Cook didn't need a buffer between him and the guy whose ass he was kicking. The only way he was truly going to do right, the only way he was going to avenge Freddie was by feeling everything. He needed to feel the pain, feel his knuckles burst on Foster's face because it was all Cook's fault. He let Freddie have Effy. Effy wasn't evil, but she had problems. Cook forgot that Freddie didn't. He was a nice guy; he didn't need any of her shit. Cook could have handled it because he knew it. He lived it. Cook forgot the overriding rule of his life—let the people with the problems stick together. That's why Freddie didn't fit—Effy wasn't his problem, but she became one. Cook had to make that right.

So he made Freddie his problem.

/

By the time Cook could see again, it was getting light out. He thought about going back to the shed, but he couldn't face it. The shed would make everything real. Instead, he found himself standing in front of a blue door that looked as sad as he felt. He didn't wince as his bloodied hands pounded on the door; he relished in it, savored the feeling.

The door opened to reveal a groggy blonde angrily wiping her eyes. "What the hell; it's six o'clock in the fucking morning." She finally looked up and her eyes widened in shock. "Jesus Christ, Cook, what the _fuck_ did you do?"

"Need to come in," he croaked.

"Yeah, of course." She stepped away to let him in. Naomi led Cook to the couch, sitting him down and disappearing for a few moments. When she came back, her arms were full of towels and bags of ice. Cook closed his eyes in relief as he felt the coldness on his cheeks. His eyes were shut, but he could feel Naomi staring at him. "Cook, what the fuck is going on?"

"I'm gonna turn myself in," he said softly.

Naomi looked at him like he was nuts, and maybe he was. The world was certainly upside down at the moment. "Right, well…what? Why?"

Cook finally looked her in the eyes. "You should get Emily, man."

Naomi scrutinized his face. "Cook, are you…are you actually crying?! What the hell is going on?" He couldn't say anything. "Cook, you're really scaring me. Can you _please_ just tell me—"

"Just get Emily!" He nearly shouted it.

Naomi practically ran up the stairs, coming down in a flash with Emily's hand tightly clasped in her own. Cook saw Emily's eyes widen in fear. They both sat down across from him, and he realized it was his turn to talk now. Funny—he couldn't find the words even though he needed to get them out of him.

"Freddie…" He choked back a sob, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. "He killed…"

"Freds killed someone?" Emily blurted.

Cook shook his head fiercely, letting out a shaky breath. "That Foster fucker, you know, Eff's shrink, he…" Cook dropped his eyes, not able to look at two scared faces as he broke the news. "Freds went over there to tell him to back the fuck off, and Foster, he…he killed him."

"Killed who?" Naomi asked. Cook knew that she wasn't fooled. She knew who he meant. She just needed him to say it.

"Fucking hell, are you gonna make me say it?" he screamed. "Freddie's dead, alright? Foster fucking murdered him!"

Cook's throat felt raw and angry; his eyes were stinging with hot tears that he was failing to suppress. He still couldn't look at either of the girls, but he knew they were hurting, too. He could hear sniffling and assumed it was from Emily—Naomi was never that close with Freddie. Understandably, then, Cook was surprised when he looked up and saw tears streaming down Naomi's face. Emily, by contrast, was stoic—her face was stricken and pained, but she made no noise. It was Naomi who felt everything. Underneath it all, Cook recognized the complete growth Naomi and Emily had made, both apart and together. If he wasn't so sad, he might have smiled proudly.

"I need to tell Katie," Emily said as she got up to leave.

Naomi got up and sat down next to him; he felt the cushions sink down, almost sagging in defeat. She placed a hand on his back and simply rested it there, letting him know she was there. On any other day, it would have been enough. But today was all about feeling – he needed to submerge himself in human contact. So instead of leaning back into her touch, he flung his arms around her back and gripped her shirt for all he was worth (which, he'd learned, wasn't a whole lot).

"I splashed around, Naomikins. I splashed around and got Freddie all wet. He drowned because of me."

"Cook, you didn't kill Freddie." He noticed she didn't say it wasn't his fault. They both knew he was to blame a little bit—he didn't wield the bat that killed his friend, but he put Freddie in its way.

"Yeah, but I should have protected him. I just…I fucking love her, you know? But I loved Fredster more."

"I know," Naomi soothed. "Have you told her yet?" Cook shook his head, unable to face the possibility of Effy. Naomi's next question was decidedly more awkward. "Have you found his…I mean, are you sure?"

Cook sucked in a breath. "I went to Foster's to try and find Freds. It wasn't right, Blondie. It just felt fucking off, you know? He had…he had bloody clothes in bags, and one had a shoe in it. It was Freddie's fucking shoe, yeah? It has his fucking name on it, man." Cook coughed, the lump in his throat suddenly too big to restrain. "There was just so much blood…"

"Cook, are you—"

"I'm not fucking finished, am I!" he yelled. Cook immediately regretted it, but he couldn't bring himself to apologize. He lashed out when he was hurt; he knew that. Naomi knew it, too. She got it. "He was so smug, such a bastard. He got out this baseball bat and told me to fucking kneel down—like I'd do that, right? But it—the top was red. I just snapped. I just fucking snapped, and the next thing I know, John Foster doesn't have a face and my hands hurt like fuck." Cook finally looked up at Naomi—her face was a picture of terrible shock. He could tell that she was in immense pain but didn't know why.

Naomi collected herself before replying. "Did you, um, well, I mean…how do you know that he's—"

"There was too much blood, Naomikins. When I was kicking him—or maybe I was punching, who the fuck knows—he told me where Freds was. "Dumpster three blocks away," he said. I knocked his fucking teeth out for that. You don't throw people in fucking dumpsters unless you know they're not coming out ever again."

"Yeah, but—"

"He was so small, Naomi. He was just lying there. I couldn't…I couldn't even recognize him anymore. He was so fucking small—I could have, I _should_ have…"

Naomi shook her head. "Cook, there was nothing you could have done. Don't blame yourself for this."

"Not the same as saying it's not my fault, eh, Blondie?"

"No." Naomi squeezed Cook's hand. "Did you kill John Foster, Cook?"

"I called the police after I found Freds, gave them an anonymous tip. Told them where Foster was, and left. He was still breathing, but only just. I should have murdered him twice over."

"You don't mean that, Cook." Naomi shook her head.

"Yeah, guess not," he lied. "Look, I need to stay here for a few days, let the bruises go away."

Naomi furrowed her brows. "I thought you said you were going to turn yourself in."

"Yeah, I am. But not because of what I did to Foster. I'm turning myself in because I escaped, end of story. I'm not gonna let that fucker take any more from me, least of all my life."

Naomi crooked her head, the only indication she gave that her heart was breaking. Cook didn't return the gesture because he didn't need to show her that his body was in a million pieces and all of them were lying on top of Freddie's corpse in some smelly dumpster. She could see it plain as day.

"Stay as long as you like, Cook. Just not forever." They both smiled for the first time that night, though neither was happy.

He got up from the couch and walked to the door, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I need to go talk to Karen and JJ.”

Naomi followed him. "Not Effy?"

Cook winced. "Can't do that, mate. Do you think you could…?"

Naomi nodded. "Yeah, 'course." He got one foot out the door before Naomi called to him again. "Cook, I'm not ever gonna shag you, but if you don't want to be alone today, there's always room for two on the couch."

Cook smiled. "They always come to the Cookie Monster in the end," he called back. Naomi smiled as he walked away, but he didn't. It was a lie, anyway. No one ever came to him. They drifted toward him and drifted away again when they were done.

Cook could feel Freddie drifting away. He tried to grab hold of the idea of his best friend, but it was flimsy, more shadow than anything. And it was impossible to love a shadow—everyone knew that.

/

Cook eventually came back to Naomi's. He did end up on the couch with her, though she was gone by the morning. It was okay—she was the only who ever left him with the intention of coming back. And she did; she and Emily spent the day with him, watching him mostly. Emily left a few times to visit Katie and Effy, but Naomi was always there. She didn't do anything when he cried other than sit next to him and sympathize. More than once, she guided his hand to her cheek, letting him feel the tears winding their way down her face. He would smile at that because he knew the reason she was crying, and it wasn't the same as his. She was crying not because of Freddie, but because Cook was. She was crying for him.

It was the first time in his life that anyone had done that. When he went back to prison, he would close his eyes and try to remember the feeling of her tears.

It was all he ever thought about.


	2. Naomi

People say a lot of things about happiness. Naomi scorned all of it; it was all wrong. All these sayings about how easy happiness is— _it takes 43 muscles to frown, but only 17 to smile_! What a crock of shit. (There are only 36 muscles that we use for facial expression anyway. Busted). That's why Naomi preferred to draw her own conclusions about happiness.

There was one quote that she liked, though. Oscar Wilde once said, "The world has grown suspicious of anything that looks like a happily married life." _That_ was what Naomi believed because she lived it. Almost immediately after she won Emily back, a little, cynical thought flitted across her mind—"Is this really happening? Is this actually going to last?" It was only natural; after all, she was part of the world, too. She hoped it would; she knew she needed it to if she wanted to survive. But she couldn't quell her suspicion.

And so that's why she wasn't all that surprised when something woke her up from her perfect slumber. Disturbed, yes. Surprised, no. She took a moment to look at Emily, who had immediately curled herself around Naomi's pillow when the blonde got out of bed. Naomi stumbled downstairs, thinking the whole time how she'd much rather be snuggled in bed with her girlfriend. She opened the door with every intention of telling whoever was on the other side to bugger off.

Well, that didn't happen.

/

Naomi did end up going back to bed, only it wasn't to stay. She was completely unnerved by whatever was going on with Cook, and as much as she wanted to crawl back in next to Emily, she knew she couldn't relax without knowing what had happened.

"Em." Naomi didn't want to wake Emily. She wanted to protect her, keep her away from Cook's troubles. Plus, she just looked so damn peaceful and gorgeous when she was sleeping. "Em, you've got to wake up." Naomi shook Emily's shoulder gently.

"I'm sleeping, Naoms," Emily mumbled.

"Well, you've got to stop sleeping, babe, and come downstairs with me."

Emily threw the covers off lazily. "Don't call me 'babe.' You only call me babe when something's wrong."

"Well then I guess you can deduce that something is wrong right now, hm? So get some clothes on because as much as Cook would love to see you naked, I think you might be mortified."

"Cook? What—"

"Would you just get dressed and follow me, please?" Naomi felt a flash of annoyance. There was nothing more confused than a sleepy Emily, and now was not a good time to deal with that.

"Okay, okay. Calm the fuck down." Emily threw her a glare, but she didn't mean it. Naomi could see a hint of worry in her eyes. That's why Naomi grabbed her hand, why she held on for dear life. Naomi needed to know that there was at least one person who would be an absolute good, no matter what the hell was going on. Emily was Naomi's stability, the constant in her life; even when the world was breaking and doing the same to Naomi, Emily was always there. Naomi found her mind oddly wandering to that one poem by A.A. Milne:

_So wherever I am, there's always Pooh,  
_ _There's always Pooh and me.  
_ " _What would I do?" I said to Pooh,  
_ " _If it wasn't for you," and Pooh said: "True,  
_ _It isn't much fun for One, but Two  
_ _Can stick together," says Pooh, says he. "That's how it is," says Pooh_.

Naomi changed all the names to "Emily." For the rest of the night, Naomi would repeat that in her mind whenever she got scared. She repeated it a lot.

/

Despite popular belief, Naomi Campbell had a heart. She wasn't really a cold-hearted bitch, at least not always. In her own way, she cared about everyone. Sometimes she thought she cared too much. Emily would always tell her that whenever she got mad at the world for being unfair, but Naomi couldn't help it. She meant what she said that first day at Roundview—she couldn't stand injustice.

So when Cook told them that Freddie was dead, Naomi did what she always did when she felt helpless—she cried. At the back of her mind, guilt twinged because she wasn't crying for Freddie. She was crying for Emily, who had been friends with Freddie and whose sister once dated him; she was crying for Effy, who had just lost the only boy she ever loved; she cried for Cook because life kept stealing pieces of his heart.

She cried for Cook because his best friend had died. She cried for Cook because she could see that he didn't have hope anymore.

She cried for herself because she knew she would never be able to change his mind, to show him that maybe she could be his hope.

Naomi watched as the boy—no, the _man_ —she considered her best friend came apart at the seams, ripping and tearing until his insides spilled out and fell forgotten on the floor. She watched him cry and bleed all over the place until she, too, was covered in it. Splashing in it, even.

And still, she tried to comfort him. "Cook, there was nothing you could have done. Don't blame yourself for this."

"Not the same as saying it's not my fault, eh, Blondie?"

Naomi's shoulders sagged—she'd hoped he wouldn't catch that. But Cook was shrewd and missed nothing, even when she wanted him to. "No." Naomi couldn't lie to him, but she could still try to ease his pain. She squeezed his hand. "Did you kill John Foster, Cook?"

"I called the police after I found Freds, gave them an anonymous tip. Told them where Foster was, and left. He was still breathing, but only just. I should have murdered him twice over."

"You don't mean that, Cook," she said. _I don't want you to mean that_ , is what she meant. _I don't want you to mean that because as right as it sounds, it's still fucking terrifying_. Naomi thought about what she'd do if it was Cook in that dumpster, or worse—Emily. The conclusion she came to was terrifying, too, and it made her sweat.

"Yeah, guess not." He was lying. "Look, I need to stay here for a few days, let the bruises go away."

"I thought you said you were going to turn yourself in," Naomi said, confused.

"Yeah, I am. But not because of what I did to Foster. I'm turning myself in because I escaped, end of story. I'm not gonna let that fucker take any more from me, least of all my life." Cook's response was vehement, controlled rage.

Naomi cocked her head. It felt like her heart was exploding but she tried not to let Cook see because she knew he would worry. He was a good guy, Cook—like the brother she never had. They were both fiercely protective of each other.

"Stay as long as you like, Cook," she said. "Just not forever." They both smiled—it felt good to pretend.

Cook started to leave. "I need to talk to Karen and JJ."

"Not Effy?" she asked.

"Can't do that, mate. Do you think you could…?"

"Yeah, 'course," she nodded. She was glad to do it. Anything to spare him more pain. He started to leave again, and Naomi felt like she had to say something, anything, to make him feel better. The problem was that she didn't know the right words. "Cook, I'm not ever gonna shag you, but if you don't want to be alone today, there's always room for two on the couch."

When Cook smiled, she knew she'd said the right thing. "They all come to the Cookie Monster in the end," he boasted. Naomi watched him walk away.

She knew she was the only one smiling.

/

By the time Cook left, twenty two minutes had gone by. In twenty two minutes, her life had changed forever. Naomi wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and collapse, but she had to be strong for Emily.

She stopped outside the door to their bedroom and listened to Emily leave messages for Katie.

"Katie, I know that this is, like, the seventh call or whatever, but I really, _really_ need you to pick up. Please. Just…call me back soon. Really soon."

Naomi stepped quietly into the room and looked anywhere but Emily's eyes. She knew that if she looked Emily in the eye, both of them would break down, and they couldn't do that. Instead, she watched Emily's fingers fiddle with the hem of her shirt; she watched Emily's toes curl nervously into the carpet over and over; she watched Emily's nose twitch as she failed to repress tears.

"Naomi." Emily had hung up the phone. Naomi still didn't look at her. She couldn't handle it. "Naomi, please look at me." Instead of listening to her, Naomi turned her head away so that Emily couldn't force them to lock eyes. "Naomi, please." Emily's voice broke for the first time that night. "I need you."

And there it was. In a flash, Naomi had snapped her head up, crossed the distance between them, and enveloped Emily in a crushing hug that both of them needed. She held Emily as they both cried; her tears wound down her face and pooled in Emily's hair—she could see them darken Emily's scalp. In that moment, Naomi felt more connected to Emily than she ever had to anyone in her life.

"I love you," Emily whimpered.

Naomi tightened her grip around Emily's petite frame. "I love you, too." They stood fused together for a long time—Naomi didn't know how long—rocking slightly. It reminded Naomi of one time, back when her mum was intent on making her own halfway house, that they had a tenant with a kid, a little six-month-old. Naomi would watch her mum rock him in the cradle, and within five minutes, the kid would be asleep. (Naomi had tried it herself once, but the baby only cried its head off. She chalked it up to being a clueless thirteen-year-old). Naomi would never tell anyone this willingly, but she had a soft spot where kids were concerned. She had started swaying lightly on the spot, rocking Emily in the hopes that it would lull the redhead to sleep, or at least into a state of relative peace. She rested her chin on the top of Emily's head, wanting to touch her as much as possible.

After a few minutes, Naomi heard Emily's breathing even out. Almost immediately after, the door opened again. Cook was back. Naomi stopped rocking and gently pried Emily's hands from her waist.

"Where are you going?" Emily murmured.

Naomi kissed Emily's forehead. "Cook's back."

Emily sighed as she clambered back into bed. "Okay, just don't forget about me."

Naomi straightened the covers over Emily, who was already starting to fall asleep. "Never, Ems. I'm always gonna come back."

/

Naomi spent the rest of the day in stasis. It felt like she was floating in some in-between world. She wasn't really alone—Cook was sitting next to her the whole day, and Emily was upstairs. But no one acknowledged anyone else. She wasn't really happy—Emily was hers again, but Freddie was dead. She was stuck somewhere in between living and existing.

Mostly, Naomi spent her time waiting. She laid down next to Cook when he came back and waited for him to fall asleep; she waited for Emily to wake up. She waited for Emily to leave so she could really show Cook how much she was there for him. She waited for Emily to come back so she wouldn't have to feel so lonely anymore.

She waited for the right time to break down, for the time when she was allowed to feel for herself again.

Eventually, night fell and Naomi had to leave Cook. He settled into the couch and nodded to her, telling her it was okay to go back to Emily. She trudged up the stairs. Emily was sitting on their bed, knees curled up to her chest and eyes looking straight ahead but not seeing anything. Naomi sat across from her, reaching out to stroke Emily's leg.

They looked at each other; Naomi could see her pain reflected in Emily's beautiful eyes. Suddenly, she felt her chin start to quiver.

This was her time.

"It's okay, Naoms," Emily whispered. "Stop fighting."

Naomi did stop. She flung herself across the bed and into Emily's arms, sobbing hysterically as Emily held her and shushed her, whispering soothing words.

"Please, Ems, don't ever die," she cried, choking on her words. "I just—I couldn't…"

"I know," Emily murmured. Naomi stopped trying to speak and just let the tears overwhelm her. She made sure she melted into Emily before drifting off to sleep.

_There are two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it_.

Oscar Wilde said that, too.

He was a pretty smart guy.


	3. Emily

Emily wasn't one to run away. She liked to face things head on (most of the time). For all the times she got hurt, at least she was hurt by the truth. She couldn't apologize for needing to know the truth, and she couldn't know it if she ran. There was a reason she wanted to be _with_ Naomi, and not simply _be_ her.

At the moment, however, Emily was seriously considering the benefits of getting the hell out of Bristol. She couldn't stand seeing Naomi in so much pain. Naomi had flitted in between sleep and crying for the past few hours; the sleep cycles got progressively shorter. The blonde wasn't just crying; she was completely breaking; her tears weren't just staining Emily's shirt—they were soaking it, seeping past the cloth and onto Emily's skin, mixing into her bloodstream and infecting her heart. Emily held Naomi as she cried, feeling her girlfriend shake at the futility, at the _injustice_ of it all. Naomi was unraveling, and Emily wasn't sure she could be the needle to stitch her back up. Not when everyone else was hell-bent on ripping out every seam. She just wanted to whisk Naomi away to Goa, show her the world outside of heartbreak, the world where feeling could, in fact, be a very good thing.

Emily pressed a kiss to Naomi's cheek, sweeping back her beautiful hair and tasting the tender salt of her tears.

"It's okay, Naoms. Just let him go."

"What?" Naomi squeaked.

"Cook, I mean. That's why you're crying, right?"

Naomi sniffed loudly. "I told Effy once that I thought you could read my mind. Thank you for proving me right."

Emily smiled sadly. "Don't have to be psychic to know you."

"I meant what I said, Ems. I couldn't handle it if you died, if anything happened to you."

"Nothing is going to happen to me, Naomi. We're not Freds and Eff. We don't have problems."

"We don't?" Naomi croaked.

"Are you going to shag someone else?"

"Never," Naomi mumbled. "Are you going to get fucked off your face and break both of us?"

"Never," Emily echoed. "So, you see? No problems."

"Why aren't you crying?" Naomi asked. She fiddled with a piece of Emily's hair, the strand closest to her heart.

"I'm saving it for Katie," Emily said.

She liked the truth, remember?

/

Naomi fell asleep a few minutes later, still clutching Emily like she would die if she let go. Emily squeezed her back just as desperately. She closed her eyes and felt every inch of Naomi. Not with her fingers—she felt Naomi's heartbreak with her rattling lungs; she felt Naomi's need for control with her spine; she felt Naomi's anger with her stomach.

Emily felt a buzzing on the bed; her phone lit up with Katie's name. Emily flipped it open to read the text.

_What the fuck is going on?_

_Come to mine_. Emily had told Naomi that she was going to talk to Katie when she went out the day before. She didn't talk to anyone. She had simply walked around for a few hours, trying to clear her head and make sense of the situation. But there was no way to rationalize its absurdity. Emily leaned back, closing her eyes. She needed time to rest before she went out and destroyed Katie. But her phone buzzed again before she could think.

_I'm already outside, aren't I? Come down, you twat._

Emily sighed dejectedly. She lifted Naomi's arms from her back, taking care not to wake the blonde as she crawled out of bed. She left a note for Naomi ( _Time to talk to Katie. I'll still love you when I get back_ ), knowing that without one, an empty bed would scare the wits out of Naomi.

Emily grabbed a spare sweatshirt from the back of an armchair, protecting herself from the cold morning air. It was just about the only thing she could keep out at the moment. Katie was standing on their stoop, arms wrapped protectively around her chest. She was trying to do the same thing as Emily, only she was failing.

"What's going on, Ems?" Katie blurted.

"You should come inside."

"Why?" Katie asked, annoyed.

Emily looked at her for the first time. "Because I'm going to tell you something that you're not going to like, and you'll want something softer than our stoop to sit on."

Katie just nodded, letting Emily steer her inside. Once again, Cook was nowhere to be seen. Emily passed Katie a blanket as they both sat down. She fiddled with her fingers, not knowing how to break the news.

"Are you two matching now?" Katie said with forced derision.

"What?"

"That's Naomi's sweatshirt, right? Too ghastly to be yours."

Emily looked down. "I hadn't noticed, but yeah, I guess so." Katie snorted, and Emily took a deep breath. She couldn't hold it back anymore. "Katie, they found Freds."

"Why are you saying it like that? What do you mean they found Freddie?"

Emily let out a sigh, steeling herself. "Naomi is upstairs right now. She's sleeping, but ten minutes ago she was crying hysterically because Cook came here, bloody and broken, and told us that John Foster killed Freddie. So now Freddie's dead, Cook's done for, my girlfriend has just seen her best friend completely fall apart, and I get to pick up the pieces and tell my sister that her ex-boyfriend is fucking dead." Emily's chest heaved with effort—effort and the light-headed relief of release.

"Emily, you're kidding, right? Like, you're completely lying because that can't be possible."

"Why would I lie about this, Katie?"

"But you can't mean dead; I mean, Freddie can't fucking die…" Katie was starting to panic; her breath was coming in frantic gasps.

"I mean that Freddie's dead, that Cook told us and now I can't even comfort you properly because he was my friend, too." Emily let the tears flow; her pain was mirrored in Katie's face—not because they were twins, but because there was only one way to be sad. "Please don't ask me to say it again, Katie. I didn't stay around to hear Cook say how he knew, but he wasn't lying. I saw his face. It's true."

"Freddie's dead," Katie said flatly.

"Yeah," Emily confirmed. She clasped Katie's hand, squeezing it to let her know that there was still someone real, that Katie always had someone to fall back on. Katie responded by laying her head down on Emily's lap.

"Can I stay here tonight?"

"'Course you can. For as long as you need to. Even longer, if you want to."

"You can't die on me, too, Ems," Katie murmured. "You can't leave me."

"Funny, Naomi said the same thing to me."

"Yeah, but it means something else when I say it."

Emily stroked Katie's hair. "I know."

/

Emily jumped when she felt two hands on her shoulders. "How are you?" Naomi asked from behind her.

"I don't know," Emily admitted.

"How long's she been asleep?"

"I'm not asleep," Katie said.

Emily turned her head upward toward Naomi. "She's not asleep," she whispered.

"How are you, Katie?" Inside, Emily was smiling—Naomi's question was genuine. They were making progress.

"Could use a friend," Katie said.

"Well, I'll leave you and Ems to it, then." Naomi started to leave.

"I said I could use a friend," Katie repeated. "Not Ems."

Naomi sat down on the other side of Katie. She got the hint. Emily watched as Naomi laid out her left hand—offering an olive branch, if you will—and Katie gladly accepted it. Emily took hold of Katie's other hand.

There they were, three girls whose worlds had completely fallen in. They stood together on an island surrounded by rising lava; it was eager to feel its flames lick their skin. It would consume them, dance across their existence and then pull away suddenly, leaving them without any marks. They couldn't even have that, couldn't have reminders of what they'd lost. They could only stand on that island, hands clasped, and feel the wind whip their hair into a frenzy and throw scalding flecks of lava at their legs. They'd search and search for answers, but they'd only find each other.

"He told you, didn't he? What happened, I mean." Katie turned her head toward Naomi.

"Yeah, he did," she said softly. "You sure you wanna know?"

"No. But I need you to tell me anyway."

Naomi nodded. "Foster beat him to death. With a…baseball bat." Emily felt her heart clench. "He beat him to death and then tossed him in a dumpster. Cook kicked the shit out of Foster and then found Freddie's body. I can't imagine…I mean, his best friend…"

"Oh yeah, because that's totally worse than being bludgeoned to death." Katie's voice was angry and thick with tears.

"Katie…" Emily warned.

"No, it's okay, Ems," Naomi cut in. She took Katie's hand in both of hers. "Katie, I'm really sorry. I miss Freddie, too. Not as much as you do, I know, and I won't try and take that from you. And it's okay if you're angry because I don't hate you and I know you don't hate me. We're just dealing with it differently, that's all."

Katie sniffed. "Thanks." Emily caught Naomi's eye over Katie's back. _Thank you_ , she mouthed. _I love you_ , Naomi mouthed back.

Naomi got up and touched Katie gently on the shoulder. "I'll leave you alone for a bit."

"Where are you going?" Emily asked.

Naomi clenched her jaw. "I get to tell Effy."

The lava looked up at them, laughing derisively. Even it didn't want to touch them. _You're already burned_ , it said. _You're useless_.

/

Emily stayed with Katie the rest of the day. They made tea, ate food and talked—pretended to be normal. Every so often, Katie would stop in her tracks, completely freeze standing up, and Emily would walk over and hug her until Katie pushed her away, until she could walk again. Emily wished someone could do the same for her.

Eventually, the front door opened again and Emily had never felt gladder to have Naomi come back. Only it wasn't Naomi—it was Cook. Emily's heart sank; she liked Cook, she really did, but he couldn't be here right now, not with Katie. Emily tried to shuffle him out the door before Katie saw him, but she was too quick.

Katie was off the couch in a flash and running at Cook, barraging him with fists and angry words. "You fucking prick! You absolute bastard!" she yelled.

Cook just stood there and took it, waited for her to calm down on her own. "You can punch me all you want, man; it's not going to bring him back," he said tersely.

"This is all your fault!" Katie screamed. "You ruin everything! You couldn't just leave him alone, could you? You had to take everything from him, and now he's dead. Fuck you, Cook."

"How long are you staying here, Cook?" Emily asked softly.

"Couple days, probably. Let the bruises go away, though it might be longer now, thanks to Katiekins here."

Emily had to restrain Katie to stop her from jumping on him again. "Stop it, Katie. This isn't helping."

"Where are you going after that, Cook?" Katie sneered. "Gonna run away again?"

"Gonna turn myself in, mate."

Emily felt Katie slump in her arms before she threw Emily's arms off her and stormed away. Emily and Cook watched her stomp upstairs, slamming the door to the guest room.

"Sorry about that, Cook."

"Ah, don't worry about it. Wasn't anything I didn't deserve," he dismissed.

Emily looked at him admonishingly. "You're a good guy, Cook. You don't deserve any of this shit."

He looked surprised. "Thanks, Emilio. But you're wrong. Maybe I didn't deserve it when I was thirteen and didn't know any better, but I sure as fuck do now."

Emily nodded and started up the stairs. "Maybe steer clear of her for a while, yeah?"

Cook sat down on the couch and rested his hands on his knees. "You got it."

Emily finished the walk up the stairs. Katie had closed the door, and Emily decided not to bother her. She'd moved past the stage where she needed to be held. It was going to be solitude from here on out.

Instead, Emily went into her bedroom and stared out the window. The sky was early-morning grey, but she could only see red. Lava red.

/

Emily turned to face Naomi when the door opened. Time seemed to have passed without obeying the normal rules; it felt like Emily had been standing at the window for five minutes and infinite hours at the same time. Naomi looked emotionally drained, but she smiled all the same. Emily did, too. Naomi always made her smile.

Naomi wrapped her hands around Emily's waist and rested her chin on Emily's shoulder.

"Looks cold out there," Emily said.

"Yeah, it is."

"How's Effy?"

"She's Effy."

Emily nodded. "You wanna talk about it?"

Naomi swept back Emily's hair and kissed her on the temple. "No. I feel like listening right now. Tell me about Freddie."

Emily smiled as the tears fell. "You remember that one day we all had a picnic in the park?" Naomi hummed her confirmation. "Well, there was this bee that just wouldn't stay away from Freddie…"

As she recounted the story, Emily found herself back on the island. This time, it was she who looked at the lava with contempt. _Fuck off_ , she thought. _There's no way you can hurt me_.

The lava retreated with shame and was replaced with a calm sea. The waves were a calming azure that seemed oddly familiar.


	4. Katie

"Do you think he suffered?" Katie asked as she sipped her tea.

Emily looked at her like she was absolutely mental. _Not me, Ems_ , Katie thought. _That's Effy_. "Katie…he was beaten with a bat. I don't…I don't think he went too quietly." Emily reached across the table to rest her hand on Katie's arm. Katie looked down at it—it was so like hers, so like the one she used to use to touch Freddie.

She scooted her chair back sharply, standing up suddenly. "I need some air."

She walked through the house, stopping when she got in the backyard. She surveyed her surroundings—the last time she had been here, Freddie was cooking burgers and loving Effy and being happy. Katie hadn't liked it then, but she'd give anything now to have him back, even it meant she could never actually have him. Effy hadn't turned out to be so bad, after all. Katie could stand seeing the both of them together if it meant she could see Freddie. At least then he wouldn't be all alone.

She squeezed her mug tighter. Her eyes wandered around, dancing over rickety fences and kiddie pools that seemed glaringly incongruous. She idly wondered why Emily hadn't come after her yet. It seemed ironic that after Katie had spent all last year chasing Emily away, she now desperately needed her twin to coming running after her.

She took another sip of her tea, looking down. _Fuck_ , she cursed inwardly. She may have been able to escape Emily, but she couldn't escape her hands.

/

Eventually, Emily did come outside. By that time, the sun was shining and Katie's tea was still only missing two sips. Emily rubbed her arms to try and get rid of the cold; Katie savored it. Every breeze was a touch from Freddie, a reminder that he wasn't completely gone yet.

"You haven't finished your tea," Emily said inanely.

"Got cold," Katie clipped back. "How long have I been out here?"

"About twenty minutes." Emily shivered. "You wanna come in?"

Katie shook her head. "Not really. Stay out here with me for a while."

Emily nodded and stepped closer to Katie, linking their fingers together. Katie let go and wrapped her arm around Emily's waist, letting her head rest on Emily's shoulder. There was this notion people had about twins, that they were completely alike and so synchronized and in tune with each other. Well, that wasn't always true. Katie was sad to admit that she didn't really know about Emily's life—she didn't know about Naomi's infidelity until the barbecue, and even then she had to hear it from Naomi in the crudest way possible. Emily and Katie, they didn't tell each other things anymore. But that didn't mean they didn't know each other. There was a difference, a big fucking difference, between knowing what's going on in someone's life and simply knowing them. Katie knew Emily, plain and simple; Emily knew Katie. It's how they were able to help each other—it's how they were able to survive. Katie would never admit this to anyone, but Emily had always been her rock. Emily had always been the glue that kept them a pair because she was stable. And then Naomi had come along and shattered Katie's rock, and suddenly Katie found herself waltzing through life undefined. So this twin thing? It wasn't like anything else that other twins had. Emily didn't bleed when Katie did; Katie didn't smile when Emily was happy. It wasn't like that. They came to the same conclusions together—but not because of each other. They had their twin thing in the way that they always came back to each other.

"I'm sorry I haven't come to see you more often," Katie said.

Emily pressed her head a little harder onto Katie's. "I could say the same to you, I guess," she chuckled sadly.

"We all miss you, Ems."

"I know."

"Mum, too."

"I know."

"She'd probably come around, you know. Eventually."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just…not ready to leave the happiness, you know?"

Katie snorted. "I think you're the only happy one at the moment, Emily."

Katie could hear Emily wince. "No, I mean…I'm not ready to be ridiculed again. I'm not ready to go back to being angry because that Emily, that vicious Emily who was just so fucking fed up with everything—that's not me anymore. Besides, I wouldn't want to begrudge her a chance to talk about how perfect your life is in comparison to mine."

Katie shifted, suddenly scared and defensive. "My life isn't perfect, Emily. Especially not right now."

"So, what I'm saying right now—it's not coming out right. I know you know what I mean, though."

"Yeah. But I think she's ready to hear what you have to say."

"I always think that, and then it never ends up that way. I don't need to hear how I've totally screwed up my life because now I can never get married or have kids or have the perfect fucking future she had planned for me. So, no—I'll just let her live with the one daughter who can give her all those things. Win-win as far as I'm concerned."

Katie's heart dropped to the floor. She'd almost forgotten that she hadn't told Emily. She'd been meaning to, she really had, but everything just got so messed up that she couldn't concentrate on it anymore. She had to put aside her problems and fix everyone else's because that was what she always did. It may have been in a fucked up way at first, sure, but deep down Katie had always tried to protect Emily from anything. From everything. She hadn't ever really learned how to let others protect her.

Katie didn't even realize she'd pulled away until Emily started speaking again. "Hey, are you okay? What did I say?"

"I can't." Katie shook her head—this was not the right time to tell Emily.

"Katie, you can tell me. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Sure, she could, but she didn't want to. She didn't plan on it, either, not until she saw Emily's eyes. It was almost like looking into a mirror, only everything Emily was feeling was so much more…raw. Katie hadn't gotten used to the idea of being barren, but it wasn't a shock anymore either. She didn't want to shock Emily. She wanted to keep protecting her. But as Katie looked in Emily's eyes and felt tears well up in her own, she realized that maybe it was time to let someone else step in, to let someone else do the protecting for a change. Emily should have been there for her—they both knew that. Well, here was her chance. So Katie took a big breath and just let go.

"No, I mean I can't…I can't have kids." Emily looked stricken. "I went to the doctor's because I thought Sam had gotten me pregnant, and then they told me that I couldn't have kids. Like, ever. So please don't go on about me having the perfect life because I don't. And I know yours has been shit for a while, but maybe it's my turn because I can't go back home either; Mum hasn't looked at me the same since I told her and Dad just looks like he wants to cry all the time, and now Freddie's dead and I don't know what to do anymore." Katie surprised them both with the emotions that were pouring out of her, drowning both twins in a sea of helplessness. Katie wanted to cry—and she'd certainly get her wish soon—but mostly she wanted Emily to stop looking at her with abject pity and be her rock again. She wanted Emily, for once, to tell her what to do.

"What do you—but…when? How long have you known?" Emily's voice came out in chunks; she swallowed as much as she spoke.

"A while. Since the barbecue, maybe a bit before." Katie couldn't remember exactly how long it had been anymore. It was no longer a shock—it was simply a fact, and you don't go around thinking of the exact time you knew that two plus two equaled four. It was just another fact.

"Katie…" Emily whined.

"I wanted to tell you, Ems; you were just too, I don't know, sad or whatever. You kind of forgot about me, I guess, and I didn't want to push you because the last time I did, you ran straight for Campbell and I never really got you back. But you're better now, and I need you because my life _isn't_ perfect and I know it's stupid, but I can't stop thinking that maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if Freds wasn't so careful when we were together because maybe then I'd have a little piece of him running around with a goofy smile and a skateboard attached to his fucking foot…"

Emily pulled Katie into a back-breaking hug, and Katie couldn't stop the tears anymore. She cried deep, shoulder-heaving sobs, ones that hurt and made her cough all over Emily's shirt. In the back of her mind, she knew she'd ruined the top; the back was all wrinkled because she couldn't hold Emily tight enough. She wouldn't be satisfied until she had pressed herself so hard against Emily that she came out the other side.

Emily squeezed her back just as desperately—whether she was trying to hold them steady or hold them together, Katie didn't know. At some point, they sunk to the ground; the harsh pavement was carving painful dents into her knees. It was nothing compared to the sting of the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Katie, I'm _so_ sorry," Emily sobbed. "I should have been there for you, I guess I just…"

"I know," Katie cut in. "You had a lot of crap to deal with. It's okay. Just…look, I know I'm not your number one anymore, right?" Katie felt Emily nod reluctantly against her head. "Right. So just make sure I'm always number two." She sighed, trying to find the right words to say. "I've always been jealous of you, Em. You throw yourself into everything you do, like, completely. I wish I could be that brave. I just want you to appreciate what you have. If you and Naomi ever break up—you know, if one of you goes totally retarded or something—don't ever forget her. Because it's special, what you have, and I'm jealous. I just need you to be around. To teach me, you know?"

They'd been crying for so long that Emily's tears were finding their way down Katie's cheeks. She felt them sink into her skin, becoming a part of her. She and Emily would always have each other, she knew that, but it was deeper this time. It was deeper and better and so much more powerful because they actually wanted to understand each other. Katie missed Emily more than she realized.

"If I had to make a list of all the bravest people I knew," Emily mumbled into Katie's hair, "you'd be pretty high up, Katie."

Katie smirked. "Oh, yeah? How high?"

Emily laughed lightly. "Number one, Katiekins. Always number one."

"Fuck off, bitch, I hate that name."

"I love you, too, Katie."

/

They went back to sitting at the kitchen table. Emily had made her a new cup of tea which, strangely enough, seemed to be helping. Like it could really make anything better—it was just a cup of hot flavored water. But it was familiar and thoughtful, too.

"You should eat something, Katie."

"I'm not really hungry," she lied.

"Hm," Emily grunted, getting up. "I'll make you something anyway."

Katie turned in her chair as she watched Emily rifle through the refrigerator. She bypassed leftover Chinese food, pudding, and two slices of pizza— _that all looks amazing, why aren't you taking any of it out, bitch_ —and settled on something from one of the drawers instead. She turned to the cupboard and took out a loaf of bread, humming softly.

"Um, Ems, what are you making me? Because I don't really do sandwiches."

"You do this one," Emily said, almost cheerily.

"No, I don't."

"Shut up," Emily trilled. She finished putting the sandwich together and put it on a plate, sliding it over to Katie. Emily looked at the sandwich, then at Katie. Katie looked at Emily, looked down at the sandwich. It was still just a sandwich. Emily raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"Em, it's a sandwich on a plate. Appreciate the thought, but I still don't want it."

"Just humor me and take a bite."

Katie rolled her eyes and sighed. She picked up the sandwich—which looked pretty soggy, to tell the truth—and took a reluctant bite. Her eyes widened and she stopped mid-chew. _I_ used _to do sandwiches_ , she remembered. Her mind traveled back to when she and Emily were kids and their parents used to fight. It was a little before James—but especially during James—and it used to scare Katie. They would go down to the kitchen holding hands, and Emily would make Katie a turkey and butter sandwich. (Emily wouldn't eat anything. She just made sure Katie did). It was more butter than turkey, really, as it was made by a sloppy six-year-old hand. But somewhere in between the great slabs of butter and the single pathetic slice of turkey, Katie felt the love. She felt it even more now because they both knew what it meant.

Emily looked annoyingly smug. Katie wanted to smile back, but she didn't want to let Emily know that she'd won. "Guess you're still shit at making sandwiches. It's all lumpy, this one."

Emily beamed. "I made it just the way you like it, Katie."

Katie couldn't help the small smile that crept its way onto her face. "Thanks," she murmured.

Emily scooted her chair back and grabbed Katie by the hand. "Come on, I'm cold. Grab your lumpy sandwich and let's sit on the couch."

They snuggled under a blanket and talked for a long time. It seemed like hours. Katie kept eating her sandwich until there was just one bite left. She ignored it, put the sandwich on the table and snuggled closer to Emily. Emily, however, kept looking back at the tiny bite. She wanted Katie to eat it, as if in eating the entire sandwich, Katie would be fixed. It would be okay again. But it wouldn't. Katie knew that. She just had to make Emily see it, too.

Katie spent the next few hours nestled next to Emily. She'd forgotten how good it felt to have Emily close to her. Emotionally, yes, but physically, too. Warm skin and comforting fingers did wonders. So when the door opened, Katie was dismayed. It meant that Naomi was back and Emily would leave her again. She turned toward the door, wanting to see the reason for her impending coldness.

Well, she did turn cold. But it wasn't because of Naomi. It was Cook at the door, and when Katie saw him, her insides turned to ice. Because it was all his fault; he was the one who wouldn't let Freddie have Effy, who wouldn't let him be happy. He was the one who made Freddie turn to Katie instead. He was the one who made her feel like sloppy seconds. When it came down to it, he was really the one who broke her heart.

She jumped off the couch and ran toward him, wanting to punch him as hard as she could, so maybe he could hurt like she did. "You fucking prick!" she yelled. "You absolute bastard!" She kept hitting him and hitting him, making sure he knew what she felt. _Do you feel this, you wanker?_ she thought. _Do you feel my hands? He touched my hands and now I'm touching you. I'm fucking punching you for him because that's all I've got left_.

"You can punch me all you want, man; it's not going to bring him back." Cook didn't even try to stop her. He, too, knew that she didn't have anything else. It only made her madder, the fact that he was so fucking right.

"This is all your fault!" she screamed. "You ruin everything! You couldn't just leave him alone, could you? You had to take everything from him, and now he's dead. Fuck you, Cook."

Emily, ever the mediator, cut in to calm them both down. "How long are you staying here, Cook?"

"Couple days, probably. Let the bruises go away, though it might be longer now, thanks to Katiekins here."

She tried to punch him again, but this time Emily was there to stop her. "Stop it, Katie. This isn't helping."

"Where are you going after that, Cook?" Katie jeered. "Gonna run away again?" She couldn't have been gladder for the bruises peppered all over his body. He was hurting, too. At least Katie was better at hiding it.

"Gonna turn myself in, mate."

Katie stilled in Emily's arms. She gave Cook one last icy glare before rushing upstairs.

Fuck. When did everyone get so fucking noble?

/

She calmed down as the night went on. She calmed down and crawled inside herself, trying desperately to pick up the splintered pieces her body had left on the floor. Cook wasn't so bad, once she thought about it. He had gone about it in all the wrong ways, but he was just trying to deal as best as he could. Naomi was right—everyone dealt with things in different ways. It had just taken Katie a little longer to really know that.

By the time she figured things out, it was dark. She got out of bed and opened the door carefully; if someone was outside, she wasn't going to show herself. She wasn't going to get caught. But no one was there. She sighed in relief and crept down the stairs. The house was quiet—it would have even seemed peaceful if the grief wasn't so pervasive.

Katie walked into the living room and watched Cook sleep. His face was tortured silence; his lips twitched as he dreamed. She felt her heart go out to him a little bit (even though she still wanted to be mad at him). She wanted to wake him up and yell at him. It's what she would have done a year ago.

Instead, she went to the kitchen and made him a sandwich. As she left it on the table, her eyes wandered to the remnant of her sandwich. She picked it up, scrutinizing it before popping it into her mouth. It was a little dry and crusty, but it didn't matter.

She could finish it now.


	5. Effy

There was a lot to be said about the virtues of a chilly afternoon. A lot of people preferred the summer to grey skies, but Effy didn't. You could tell a lot about people by the way they acted in the cold. See, in summer, it was all the same; you go outside and laugh. Bask in the sun, shed as many layers as possible. Throw on some sandals and you've got the day covered. You're golden. But the cold? That was something else entirely. You wake up on a cold day: what kind of socks do you put on? What kind of cold is it? Is it raining or snowing? Will your red hat with the pouf on top keep out the wind? It's all about choices, the cold. It's how you choose to face the day—do you cover up with sweatshirts and gloves, or do you scorn the cold and flip it the bird with a naked finger? It's the choice between hiding and just being so out there. Most people decided to hide. It was safer that way.

Effy didn't. She didn't like to be safe. So when she got up that morning, she counted on it being summer. She knew she was supposed to feel summer, that's for sure. But the cold—it snuck its way through her window. It wanted her to hide. That was exactly why she was sitting on a bench in a dress that barely covered anything. Her near-nakedness was the biggest "Fuck you" she could muster.

The buzz of her phone against her thigh would have created goose bumps on a warm day. But today was cold, and they were already there. She flipped it open, not bothering to look at who was calling.

"Hello?"

"Eff? Can I talk to you?" Naomi sounded little.

"Isn't that what you're doing?" Effy quipped.

"No, I mean…look, where are you?"

"Outside."

"Effy," Naomi huffed. "Exactly _where_ outside? I really need to tell you something."

"I'm by Keith's." She hung up the phone, shifting her attention to a mother and her kids that were coming down the street. They were hiding in plain sight. The mother was plump and haggard; her kids didn't look too much better. They were all overdressed—a summer's day, even a cold one, didn't merit two pairs of gloves and earmuffs. Effy watched them struggle down the sidewalk; the kids tugged at the mother's arms, pleading for things they'd never get. She watched them as they walked past. Effy kept her eyes on the woman's misshapen body; she wondered when the mother's eyes had gotten so tired. When had the years of her life started to hide in inches of skin and dull fabric? Effy puzzled over why her mum hadn't ended up like that. Was that a good sign?

Her eyes followed the group as they walked away from her. They got smaller as they got further away, and Effy focused on something else: the familiar blonde getting bigger.

Naomi was the cold, too; Effy could see that. It puzzled her: Naomi should be all about summer and sunlight after the shed. But as she sat down next to Effy, she was dreary skies and rolling clouds instead.

"Fucking creepy, you are," Naomi said. "Why were you staring at them?"

"They had earmuffs."

Naomi scoffed. "Yeah, don't know if you noticed, but it's colder than a witch's tit today."

Effy looked at Naomi. "I notice everything."

Naomi smiled. "Okay, Ms. Know-it-all, did you notice the coffee shop around the corner?" Effy nodded. "Great. Let's go there and chat. As impervious as you may be to the weather, I'm fucking freezing."

Effy got up and followed Naomi. She was a little dismayed by the warmth of the coffee shop; it didn't feel right. Naomi sat them in a secluded booth at the back. The lighting was dim and Effy felt safe. _I'm not summer, I'm not summer…_

"What's all this about, then?" she asked.

Naomi looked at her as if she was expecting an explosion at any second. "It's about Freddie," she said slowly.

Effy's insides seized up. Her face didn't show a thing. "You found him, then?"

Naomi nodded. "Cook did."

"How's Fred doing? Shacked up on some beach in Italy? He's gotta be somewhere far away from me, I'm sure."

Naomi looked Effy straight in the eye. Effy almost flinched. "Eff, he's…no. He's not in Italy. He's dead."

Effy felt a tear slide down her cheek. "What are you talking about? How did he die?"

Naomi looked pained. "Can I not tell you this part?" Effy glared at her. "No? Okay." She heaved a sigh. "Your shrink, Foster, or whatever? He murdered Freddie. I'm not gonna tell you how, even if you want me to, but Cook found his body. He asked me to tell you."

Effy looked at Naomi, searched her face for any sign of a joke, but it was painfully serious. Her breath started to leave her in panicked squeaks as the last of her control melted away. There was no way Freddie could be dead. He was her rock; he was what kept her alive. He had to live—for _her_ , he had to live.

"Eff, say something. Start crying, yell at me—do _something_. Please."

Effy didn't cry. She didn't say anything. She just stood up and ran. She blew past couples laughing over their coffee, and as she felt the cold air sting her eyes once again, she ran even faster, wishing for the first time that it could be summer.

/

Eventually, she stopped. She stopped somewhere by water and just watched the ripples. They weren't waves, not yet. They were just little touches, born out of falling leaves or thrown sticks. They didn't matter, not like Freddie did. He was a wave, a big, ship-sinking, whirlpool-creating tidal wave, and all Effy could do was stand on the shore and watch it overtake her. Effy used to be able to fight the wave; she wouldn't repel it, but she would suck it all up in a giant bag and hold it, keep it for later. But later came, and instead of leaking out of a hole in the bag like she had planned, the water burst out and overwhelmed her, and ever since then she hadn't been able to put the pieces back together. All she could do was let it drown her. Well, now the wave was gone, and she was experiencing a drought. She was parched, but there was no water left to quench her thirst.

"Jesus Christ, Eff," Naomi panted. "If that's the way you run on smoker's lungs, I wouldn't want to chase you when you're healthy."

Effy sat down and pulled her knees to her chest. She felt Naomi sit next to her. The blonde watched her intensely—Effy could feel it—but Effy found that she didn't really care anymore. Naomi could look at her for hours and it wouldn't make a difference. Freddie would still be dead.

"Eff, please say something. I need to know what you're thinking."

"What I'm thinking is that my life is shit," Effy said coldly.

"Yeah, I won't argue that," Naomi responded softly.

Effy sniffled loudly and batted the tears away from her eyes. This was why she didn't love—love got you hurt. Love broke you. Effy wouldn't ever tell anyone—even though people might be able to see it—but she was broken. Freddie had broken her heart, even though she had fought like hell to keep it hardened.

"Are you really sure?" Effy croaked. She rested her head on her knees and turned to look at Naomi.

The blonde nodded sadly. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'm sorry, Effy."

Effy didn't even bother wiping away the tears now. "I loved him, you know."

"Yeah, I know. You still do."

"Yeah. And I hate love."

"I know."

"Everyone loves me, and then they leave anyway."

Naomi scooted closer to Effy. "Effy?"

"Hm?" Effy murmured.

"Do you see me leaving?"

Effy smiled a little. "No."

Naomi wrapped her hand around Effy's shoulders and gave them a little squeeze. "So, I love you, too, okay?"

Effy snuggled into Naomi's arms. "I know."

/

At the start of the day, Effy had wanted to be the winter because it was a taunt, and there was nothing Effy liked more than to snub something. She wanted to be the winter because it was easier to suffer in silence than try and pretend to be happy. She didn't know what she was suffering for, but the suffering was comfortable. She had felt its tendrils before, felt them ripping into her pores, probing how far they could go. She'd always stopped them before. She knew when to turn it off.

But now, the suffering was agonizing. It wasn't familiar; it was heartbreaking and uncomfortable. The tentacles of her demons snaked around her insides and found hidden places, the places she had always managed to lock away. Her barriers were shattered and for once, she was being snubbed. The suffering was taunting her.

She had wished for winter at the beginning of the day. Well, she got it. The winter left her almost catatonic on her bed. She had come home to an empty house; for the first time, she tried to fill that silence. What she would have basked in before became stifling. That was the problem with wishes. Sometimes, they came true.

What had been silver was now grey; everything that had been opaque was fading into translucency. Effy could feel herself becoming transparent. Only the memory of Freddie burned brightly in her mind, and even then she couldn't cherish it. It was just a memory. You couldn't hold a memory.

It wasn't real anymore. She could only find it in blistering gales of wind and the heartache of winter. Effy had mocked summer, and summer, knowing a two-player game when it saw one, mocked her right back.


	6. Karen

Once again, the shed had been redecorated. Karen had spent most of her time since the party in the shed; save for a few hours when she had cried with her dad, she hadn't left the small building. It didn't look at all like what it used to. The shed, Karen realized, had gone through stages. There was the first stage, when Cook and JJ and Freddie were just little kids, where it was a secret fort—a base for all the imagined wars and battles they had created. Stage two came in with puberty; girls and being rebellious were all that mattered. Helmets made of bowls with leaves glued on were tossed out and replaced by tins for drugs and hidden cabinets of porn (which weren't really that hidden, anyway). Then came stage three, where the shed switched owners and it wasn't really happy. See, the thing about the shed was it was a hiding place at heart. It didn't want to be a dance studio; it didn't want to have Karen sweating and making noises all over it. Karen knew that, but she did it anyway because she didn't really have anything that was hers. She wanted to know what it was like, just for a second, to really have something, and the feeling was intoxicating. The shed was always Freddie's. It would always be Freddie's, even though he wasn't there to have it. Even now, when it was occupied constantly by Karen, it was still Freddie's.

But it looked different. She had taken all of his old stuff out and replaced it. The one memento that she kept was the picture of Freddie, JJ, and Cook. And the door. There was no replacing that door. Everything else was different though. She'd basically transferred Freddie's entire room to the shed, only she'd arranged everything wrong. Shirts were tacked to walls; his bed was in pieces on the floor; CDs and books were rammed haphazardly into cupboards and shelves. It was a shrine, and it would always be one. There were no more stages after this one. This was it. This was what the shed was always meant to be.

It was Freddie's final hiding place.

/

Karen had gotten into the habit of talking to Freddie. She'd done it when she just thought he was missing, but now that she knew he really wasn't coming back, she needed to do it even more. Her dad told her it was futile, that Freddie couldn't hear her, but it didn't matter. At night, if she listened carefully, she could hear her dad doing the exact same thing she spent every waking minute doing. He was a hypocrite, and she loved him for it.

It was useless chatter, mostly; she'd talk about what she'd had for lunch, or what was going on with her favorite television show. It was everything she normally talked to Freddie about, and somehow that made it deeper. She wasn't really talking about "Dancing on Ice"; she was talking about all the things that no one else wanted to hear. Freddie was the only person who ever cared enough to listen. Even though he couldn't hear her anymore, deep down Karen knew that Freddie was still listening.

But on this day, Karen didn't want to talk about music or celebrities or television shows. She just wanted her brother back. She hadn't had a terrible day, by any means; it was just the little things that got in the way. There were little annoying moments peppered amongst the good that could only be swept away by a hug from a freakishly tall teenager with arms too long for his body and hands that could cover her entire face.

"I miss you, Freds," she murmured. The only piece of furniture in the shed—well, at least the only one still intact—was the armchair Freddie always sat in. Today, Karen was curled up in it. It still smelled like him, but it soon wouldn't.

"I don't really see anyone, you know. They don't want to be around me. Except for Cook. I thought I'd hate him; thought I'd blame him for everything. But he's hurting, too. I guess we're the most broken by you being…well, you know. We'll miss your stupid smile the most, is what I'm saying."

Karen sniffled. At first, she couldn't stop the tears. Then she started to resent them. Now she didn't even feel them. She didn't care. There was no one around to judge anyway.

More importantly, there was no one around to care with her.

Cook cared, but he cared from far away. She understood why, but she didn't like it. Eventually, he'd go away, too—definitely less permanently, but it would still sting. But he'd told her that he'd come back.

If there was one thing Karen needed right now, it was to believe that Cook would come back.

/

**Two days earlier**

It wasn't the knocking that woke her up. Something just felt wrong, like her center of gravity had been pushed over a few centimeters. Later, when she'd look at people, they'd think that it was the force of the news that broke her, something akin to a sledgehammer to the face. But it wasn't. It was those few centimeters, that one little push. Always the pebble, never the stone. Always the snowflake, never the iceberg.

But it _was_ the knocking that required her attention. So she opened the door, immediately waking up when she saw two grim police officers standing at her doorstep.

"Yes?" she prompted.

"Is this the McClair residence?" one of them huffed.

"Yes," she answered, ruffling her eyebrows suspiciously. "Why?"

"Frederick McClair is your…?"

"Brother," she finished. "Have you found him, then? Is he okay?"

They pushed past her, marching in like the intruders they were. "You should get your father," the fat officer said. He sounded like he was angry with her. Probably compensating for something.

But she obeyed anyway, because her center of gravity just kept getting pushed over. She could barely stand up straight.

Karen came back down the stairs with her dad in tow, still bleary-eyed and useless. She watched him straighten out at the sight of the two men in their living room. He was never a perceptive guy, her dad.

"These officers are here about Freddie, Dad," she explained softly.

The sleep was gone from his eyes in an instant. "Did you find him?" he asked eagerly.

"Maybe you two should sit down." The officer who wasn't fat had hairy hands, but they seemed nice as they gestured compassionately at the couch. Karen sat next to her dad, who immediately clasped her hand in a vice-like grip. He was starting to get it. He was starting to tilt.

"Tell me you found my son," her dad demanded.

Hairy Hands looked at him unwaveringly. "We received an anonymous call last night at 11:52. The caller told us that there was a…body…in a dumpster, and that it was your son, Frederick McClair. We immediately sent units to the location and confirmed that there was a body."

"You still haven't told me that you've found Freddie."

Hairy Hands sighed. "He was wrapped in a sheet," the officer said softly. "Wearing only one shoe. It had the name "Freddie" written on it."

"Anybody could have been wearing that shoe," her father said desperately. Karen knew he was flailing. He couldn't accept it yet. But she had. She knew from the way that everything seemed sideways.

"I have a picture, but I don't know if you want to see it." Hairy Hands pulled out a small photograph. "There is some…trauma to the head. I realize it might be difficult to look at." He held out the picture. Karen took it, knowing that she would be able to recognize Freddie more quickly than her dad would.

It was hard, though, because the face in the photo wasn't really a face. It was a face put together by a toddler who hadn't worked out proportions yet and was still learning how to handle clay. It was puffy in some places and sunken in others, and it made Karen sick. Her dad immediately started going off about how it couldn't be Freddie because Freddie couldn't be dead, but Karen wasn't listening. Her attention was focused on one thing, and that was a perfectly-preserved freckle on Freddie's nose still visible amongst the bruises and bumps. When she was mad at him, she used to tease him about it, tell him it looked like he always had dirt on his nose. Secretly, she loved it.

"Dad," she interjected. "Dad, stop. It's Freddie. It's him." She got up from the couch and started to walk away. She had to give her dad a chance to actually be an adult for once.

"Oy, who are you?" The fat officer narrowed his eyes at someone behind her, and Karen whipped her head around. Cook was standing in the hallway looking trapped. Karen's mind went into a frenzy—this was the guy who made her life hell, who cost her the chance at being a Sexx Bomb, who ruined her friend's engagement party, and who was, above all, Freddie's best friend. If anyone knew something, it was Cook, and she had to protect him, if only to get some answers. Standing in a house with two police officers when you're on the run from the law was not where Cook needed to be at the moment.

"He's my cousin," Karen said a little too quickly. "He's staying with us, just for a bit. Is it alright if I…?" She motioned leaving. It was Hairy Hands who nodded, and she and Cook were out the door in a flash. She dragged him out by the wrist and didn't let go until she had slammed the door to the shed.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Cook?"

"I need to tell you something," he said quietly. "It's about Freds."

"He's dead, Cook," Karen spat. "Finally got what you wanted, hm? A clear shot at Effy?" She waited for the look of surprise, anticipated it eagerly because it was the only way she could feel good about this, to know that she could make someone else feel as bad as she did. But it never came. All she got was sadness and failure.

"You knew," she said dumbly. Cook nodded. "How?"

"How do you think the police found him?"

"They got a call from an anonymous…" Cook raised his eyebrows and Karen connected the dots. "Fuck!" she blurted.

"I told you I'd find him," Cook said childishly.

"I don't care that you found him!" Karen exploded. "I care that he's dead, you twat! I couldn't fucking care less about you!"

Cook stared at her for a long moment before turning away. "Could have ratted me out," he said as he left.

So, you see, it wasn't the sledgehammer that broke her. It was the soft push.

It wasn't the broken face. It was the freckle.

/

"So, I need you back, Freddie. I miss you too fucking much. Cook's not enough; no one else is really enough. I just need to know that you won't ever stop listening."

Karen closed her eyes and waited. She knew it was silly to think that he might send her a 'sign' (whatever the hell that meant), but she could still hope. And pretend—probably, eventually pretend.

A gust of wind blew against the window and rattled it enough to knock one of Freddie's CDs from a shelf. That the CD was stacked poorly didn't matter; that it was really only the wind's fault meant nothing. It was enough. Karen was still allowed to believe. It was belief that got her to sleep at night.

"I love you."


	7. Cook, part ii

Bruises were funny things, if you really thought about them. You could punch someone as hard as you liked, and all you'd come away with—if you were careful—was a bit of skin discoloration. Looking at his bruises in the days following the incident with Foster, Cook learned more about what happened that night than his memory could teach him. His knuckles were torn and bloodied; his feet throbbed when he walked sometimes, which is why he preferred the couch; the skin on his stomach was a sickly yellow. He had landed more blows than he had received, but mostly he had kicked Foster. It was disorienting, because Cook could only remember punching him. It made him think that maybe he hadn't done enough to help Freddie. Cook felt like more of a fuckup than he had before he knew Freddie was dead. For hours, all he could do was stare at his bruises and watch them change colors and fade away. He felt worse when they disappeared. When red gave way to blue and then purple and then yellow, the pain only seemed to intensify. It wasn't physical pain, and that was the problem. He couldn't feel Freddie anymore. When it was dark and the air around his eyes started looking fuzzy, he couldn't even pretend to see Freddie's face in the bruises anymore. Cook began to wish for a way to turn back time so that he could beat Foster up again—properly this time. So they were funny things, bruises. Sometimes they lied. Sometimes they mocked you.

Most of the time, they challenged you to staring contests. They always won.

/

"They're going away, you know."

Cook turned his head to find Naomi watching him. She was holding a steaming mug of tea; he could see the slight wince in her eyes as she clutched it. He took it out of her hands, if only to spare her fingers. It was hot and he took a sip before answering her.

"What?"

"Your bruises." Naomi flicked her eyes to his hands. "You've been staring at them for the last ten minutes. Counting down until you get out of here, are you?"

Cook stared at her unflinchingly. "If I didn't have to leave, Blondie, I wouldn't."

Naomi looked back at him just as intensely. "So don't. You could stay here, you know. None of us would tell on you. You could be safe. Start anew and all that crap."

Cook shook his head ruefully. "I have to go, Naomikins. For Freds, I have to."

"Yeah, but you could stay for me, too," Naomi pleaded. "I'd love you just as much even if you weren't so damn noble."

Cook laughed. "I'm not fucking noble."

Naomi rolled her eyes. "If you weren't noble, I'd be in jail right now. If you weren't noble, you wouldn't even be considering turning yourself in. Sorry to tell you, Cook, but you're a nice guy."

"Well, shit," he joked. "I'm going soft." Naomi chuckled and patted his knee as she got up. "Thanks for the tea," he called out. She raised a hand in acknowledgement as Cook watched her walk away.

He thought about what she said—he'd never thought of himself as noble before. He knew he wasn't, but a tiny part of him had jumped onto her words. It would be nice to be a "nice guy," he thought. Probably wouldn't be as much fun, but it would be nice. Then again, Freddie was a nice guy, and look what happened to him. As soon as Cook thought that, he shook it out of his mind. Thoughts like that weren't helping anyone. They only served to prove that he wasn't a nice guy or noble.

If he was noble, he wouldn't have started the mess with Effy in the first place.

If he was noble, he wouldn't have left things with JJ the way he did.

/

**The day before**

Cook sat in Keith's pub. He was perched at the bar; for the first time, he wasn't face-down in a pint. He simply sat and played with a coaster, flipping it over again and again. He could feel his uncle looking at him, so he trained his eyes on his fingernails. They became more interesting as the minutes passed, though he couldn't say why, and he forgot everything when he heard someone sit down next to him.

"Hello, Cook." Cook turned to look at JJ sitting next to him. He was suddenly angry; JJ was smiling that idiotic smile of his. Cook wanted nothing more than to punch it off his face. "Quite ballsy to show your face in public, isn't it? Then again, I highly doubt that anyone at this pub would turn you in, given the owner, but still, the risk of you being caught is considerably higher than it would be if you were hiding…"

"Shut the fuck up, J-man," Cook said coldly. "I called you here for a reason, yeah? Not to hear you fucking talk my ear off."

JJ instantly sobered and Cook felt a stab of guilt. A better man than him would have apologized right away. "Right. What is it then?"

Cook suddenly found that he couldn't look at JJ anymore. He resumed fiddling with the coaster; each time he flicked it with his thumbnail, a different way of telling JJ flicked across his mind. _Statistically, J, homicide is the leading cause of teen deaths_ …no. _You know how I told you that Freddie was a fun sponge? Well_ …no, he wouldn't even consider finishing that joke. There was nothing funny about this. For JJ's sake, he couldn't make a joke of this. For the life of him, Cook couldn't think of a way to break it gently to JJ. That had always been Freddie's area of expertise; Cook just tried his best to make their lives more fun. He never really learned how to handle JJ when he got really bad.

So instead of sugar-coating it, Cook did what he did best: he told the truth. The honest, brutal, raw truth. "Freddie's dead, Jaykins. I found him."

Cook watched JJ open and shut his mouth; he always seemed to affect the mannerisms of a guppy when he got nervous or scared. JJ's eyes flashed from disbelief to hurt and finally to anger. He stood up and looked at Cook with a hard glint in his eye; Cook stood up, too, anticipating whatever JJ might be thinking of doing. As nice as he was, JJ had the ability to go into stellar rages. Cook tensed his body, ready to shield something or someone from whatever JJ was going to throw. Instead, JJ huffed an angry breath and ran out the door.

Cook was after him in a flash. He wouldn't have caught JJ if he hadn't been wearing a hoodie; Cook pulled on it to stop JJ from running and slammed him against a wall.

"Let go of me, Cook! Get away from me!" JJ struggled in Cook's arms; he was like a dying fly, trying in his last moments to finally be a part of the world that never really wanted him.

"Calm the fuck down, JJ!" Cook huffed as he tried to restrain his friend. "Let me explain!" He shoved JJ once more, hard, against the wall and held him there, making sure he wasn't going to move again.

"You're lying, Cook," JJ heaved desperately. "Freddie told me that you like to take advantage of people's feelings, that that's how you feel good about yourself, and so right now you're getting some kind of twisted pleasure out of the fact that I'm upset; there's no way that Freddie's actually dead—you're joking…"

"You think I'd joke about the fact that my best friend is dead? You think I'd do that to Freddie? Jesus Christ, JJ, I'm not that fucking cold."

"But…that's not possible," JJ almost pleaded. "I'd…I'd have noticed if something was wrong. I'm his friend."

"So am I, Jay."

"Yes, but you're Cook. You've been running from jail and hiding and too busy for your friends."

"Oh, yeah?" Cook spat back; not for the first time, his anger guided his words. "And how much time have you been spending with your bird, huh, JJ? Seems like I'm not the only one too busy for friends, mate." JJ looked at Cook as if seeing him for the first time, and it wasn't the kind of look Cook wanted to be on the receiving end of. It was a look of dismissal. "Do you wanna know what Freddie was doing while we were at his shed, hm? He was lying in a dumpster with gashes in his fucking head because that psycho Foster smashed it open with a baseball bat." Cook ignored the sounds of JJ throwing up as he continued his rant. "He'd probably been there for days—did you notice that? Hm? No, you didn't. Neither did I, man. So stop looking at me like I'm the only fuckup here, 'cause I'm not." Cook grabbed JJ's shoulders violently. "You're all I've got left, JJ. You and Karen. I can't lose you, too." He hissed the last sentence, trying desperately to show JJ just how hard he was actually trying.

"Cook, I—"

"I love you, man," Cook said fiercely. "You can feel the love, right? C'mon, Gay J, it's you and me."

JJ sighed sadly. "You break everyone, Cook. I have to go."

Cook looked at him in disbelief. "JJ…"

JJ shook his head as if trying to dislodge a particularly persistent mosquito. He looked at Cook one last time before walking away. "Please, just…leave me alone," he said quietly.

Cook was dumbfounded. "Well, that's just fucking great!" he yelled at JJ's slowly retreating form. "Go play Mr. Mom! See if I give a pissing fuck!" He laughed loudly, making sure that JJ got the point.

The problem was, though, that he did give a fuck. He gave a fuck so much that instead of going back to Keith's, he went back to Naomi's and didn't stop Katie when she hit him.

/

Cook didn't know if he was trying to punish himself, or if he was just a masochist at heart, but he suddenly found that he couldn't sit and brood anymore. He walked aimlessly out of Naomi's house, kicking gravel and small twigs that got in his way. He opened the door to Freddie's shed silently, looking anywhere but up.

"Hey, Karen," he murmured.

He heard the surprise in her voice. "How'd you know I'd be in here?"

Cook only laughed ruefully. "Do you hate me, Karen?"

She looked at him for a long moment. "Yeah," she said eventually. "But I hate Freddie a little bit, too, so who knows what that means anymore."

He chuckled sadly. "Yeah, who knows." He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the walls, looking at the shirts that Karen had tacked up. That black one over there, Cook had spilled green paint on it when they were in elementary school; the red one—he gave that to Freddie as a gift. It was three sizes too big, and Freddie had never really grown into it, but that never stopped him from wearing it every chance he got.

"Cook." He glanced over at Karen; she looked so small, sitting in Freddie's chair. "You could, um, you could stay, you know. We could hate you together, if you'd like." She smiled and Cook smiled back. He nodded and plopped himself at her feet, leaning back against the chair. Karen reached her hand down and twined her fingers through Cook's hair. Cook closed his eyes and relished the feel of her small hands kneading his scalp; it was more than he deserved. As they sat there in silence, Cook came to a very important conclusion: he'd never leave Karen. Karen was the closest thing he had to Freddie, and he'd made a pact with Freddie years ago that they would never leave each other.

Plus, Karen's fingers felt fucking mint running through his hair.

"Stop thinking about shagging me, Cook," Karen's voice sounded from above him.

Cook laughed until he cried and he couldn't tell if his tears were sad ones anymore.


	8. JJ

JJ liked to learn things. Learning things led to knowing things, which led to knowing how to use and apply those things in appropriate situations. Normality, JJ had come to realize, was something that could be learned. For example, normal boys liked girls, and normal boys knew how to make them happy. So when JJ learned that Lara _really_ liked it when he sucked on the pressure point on her neck, he figured he was on his way to being normal. His life became a sort of class, and JJ had always excelled in anything academic. He gave himself simple assignments—things to learn—and once he did, he told himself that he had to use them correctly by a self-imposed deadline. It was a very effective process; since the beginning of the year, it had helped him get a job, make some new friends, and get a girlfriend. For JJ, the mundanity of being normal was intoxicating.

But it came with a price, he realized. In learning to be normal, he learned how to blow off his friends just like everyone else. He spent days upon days with Lara, and he wasn't complaining about that—but they were. Cook was, and Freddie was (mostly Cook, though). At first, he felt guilty about it. Then, as he walked alongside Lara with Albert in tow, he realized that neither Freddie nor Cook felt guilty, so why should he? Fact: Freddie and Cook often bailed on him in favor of drugs and other illicit substances. Fact: Situations arising out of interactions with said substances made Freddie and Cook laugh. Hypothesis: Freddie and Cook were perfectly content to blow JJ off without any adverse side effects. Observation: Freddie and Cook smiled and laughed a lot (but not with each other). Observation: Freddie and Cook came away from parties with amusing stories, none of which ever included JJ. Observation: Aforementioned stories always entertained both the parties listening, and the party, e.g. Freddie and Cook, telling. Result: Hypothesis proved.

(JJ gave himself an A for that particular assignment).

So when Cook told JJ to meet him at Keith's pub, JJ was eager to apply his newfound knowledge. It wasn't all about Lara; he'd learned things about friends and co-workers and girlfriends, but mostly he'd learned things about people. So he was ready for the chance to show Cook what he knew. If there was anyone who was willing to listen to JJ, it was Cook.

Instead, JJ was the one listening to the worst news he had ever heard. Cook, instead of being his normal oblivious, shallow self, reached out to JJ and told him the truth. It hurt like hell.

Fact: Cook didn't want to lose JJ.

Result: Hypothesis disproved.

/

If there was one thing JJ was good at, it was rationalizing. Give him any situation, no matter how absurd, and he could impose upon it a system of logic. JJ liked to look at life as a series of syllogisms.

To wit:

> _If_ **(1)** People only have sex with people they love, _and_ **(2)** Freddie loves Effy, _then_ **(3)** Freddie should only have sex with Effy.

But that was disproved the day JJ walked in on Katie and Freddie. So JJ rationalized it in two ways: 1) by having sex with Emily (whom he did love), and 2) by realizing that Freddie must have loved Katie. It wasn't until he took a psychology class that he learned what he was doing was really called cognitive dissonance, which was basically a fancy way of saying that he liked to lie to himself to feel better when things didn't make sense. For JJ, things seemed nonsensical quite a bit, so he figured he was quite the practiced liar, albeit unintentionally. It should have bothered him more when he realized his way of comprehending everyone was a lie (or maybe not, he considered—if he wasn't always truthful, at least he was consistent). It was Cook who threw everything off. As hard as JJ tried, he couldn't rationalize Cook. He couldn't make him fit into a safe "if-then" formula because Cook proved them all right and wrong at the same time.

> _If_ **(1)** People only have sex with people they love, _and_ **(2)** Cook loves Effy, _then_ **(3)** Cook should only have sex with Effy.

_**BUT:** _

> _If_ **(1)** People only have sex with people they love, _and_ **(2)** Cook does not love Pandora, _then_ **(3)** Cook should not have sex with Pandora.

So it wasn't the realization that his outlook was flawed that devastated him; it was the fact that JJ couldn't fit Cook—couldn't fit his own _life_ —into a syllogism that made it all crumble. Cook was JJ's only friend; he remembered JJ's appointments and laughed with him and absolutely adored his magic tricks. But he also neglected JJ and Freddie and broke people's hearts and made his life miserable. JJ went to Cook for advice and sometimes it was right. A lot of the times, it wasn't. Cook went to jail to cover up for Naomi. He saved her. That was right. Then he escaped. That wasn't. Cook was infuriating and wrong and self-centered and flaky—and he was JJ's best friend. JJ should have been able to overlook everything wrong about Cook and focus on the good, but he couldn't, not anymore. Because life wasn't a syllogism. It was a lie. Freddie was the truth, and life was a lie.

> _If_ **(1)** Truth cannot exist in a world of lies, _and_ **(2)** Freddie is the truth, _then_ **(3)** Freddie cannot exist.

/

JJ didn't know where to go. In situations like this one, where he didn't really know how to feel, he would either go to Freddie or Cook for advice. Cook wasn't always around, but he occasionally had some gems of wisdom to give out. Freddie was physically reliable (he was always in that shed), but words failed him a lot. Either that or he was smoking too much to remember how to form a coherent sentence. But now JJ's only two options were no longer options. Cook _was_ the problem, and Freddie was dead.

Still, JJ had the shed. When he was younger and he'd had a rough day, JJ would head over to the shed and wait. Sometimes Freddie was there and sometimes he wasn't. If he was, then JJ would wait for him to wake up (he was always passed out if JJ found him in there). If he wasn't, JJ would wait for him to get there. Today, JJ planned on going to Freddie's shed to wait like always, only this time he would be waiting for a sign, or an epiphany—something that probably wouldn't ever come. He was waiting for another lie.

What he got, instead, was Cook.

They wouldn't have noticed him if he hadn't stumbled. Cook and Karen looked like they had been sitting without moving for a while; Karen was asleep, her hand resting on Cook's head. Cook leant sadly into her touch and studied the ceiling. When JJ tripped over something on the floor, Cook snapped his eyes to JJ's. He didn't look mad, like JJ had expected him to. He looked sad, a little sheepish, and maybe even a little fearful. JJ stared at him; he watched Cook watching him, waiting for something to happen, for that hard glint to come back to Cook's eyes. But it never did, and JJ felt it creeping into his gaze instead. He was angry at Cook—for messing everything up, for walking away so many times and not letting JJ do the same. For making it so hard for JJ to stay angry at him. JJ wanted Cook to laugh; he wanted Cook to shout and be Cook so JJ could dismiss him. But Cook sat there with pleading eyes and JJ felt the guilt gnaw at his stomach.

"What are you doing here, JJ?" Cook asked softly.

"I wanted to talk to Karen."

Cook flicked his eyes upward toward the sleeping girl. "I haven't moved for a while. Is she asleep?"

"Yes. But I can wait," JJ said. "I'm good at waiting."

Cook winced. "I'm sorry, Jay. This isn't how it should be, you and me."

JJ shook his head. "It was going to come to this sooner or later, Cook."

Cook looked hurt. "What are you talking about? This is us, JJ. We've been friends since we were kids. We're always gonna be friends."

JJ shook his head again, slower this time—more determined. "I don't think so, Cook. I think…I can't be around you anymore."

"JJ, what are you on, man? You're my best friend. I've got nothing without you."

JJ looked at Cook for a long moment; he was trying to figure out if he could give Cook one more chance. He wanted to, so badly, but Cook's brand of friendship had never been one for happiness. It was hard to be Cook's friend. "Freddie told me once that you don't have friends—just people you know. I stuck up for you then; I've always stuck up for you. But I can't do it anymore. I asked you to care once, do you remember that? I think you're trying, but I don't know if you'll actually get there, and I can't take the chance that you won't. You ruin things, Cook. I don't want to be one of the things that you ruin, too."

"Jay, I need you. I need you to help me not fucking ruin everything. Stay around and teach me."

"I tried, Cook," JJ snapped, his voice rising. "I tried to tell you to stay away from Effy—"

"She's got nothing to do with you and me, Jay—"

"Yes, she does!" JJ screamed. "She does because you made her! You could have backed away but you didn't; you kept going and then Freddie needed her, too, and you stretched him until he broke. You broke him, and I can't be your friend anymore."

Cook stood up angrily. "I didn't make him fall in love with her, Gay J."

"No, but you made him look at her," JJ hissed.

Cook was riled up, and JJ was glad—being angry at someone who was angry with you always made you feel justified. "She was always going to crack, mate. That's not my fault. I didn't make her mad."

"No, you just watched. You don't care about anyone other than yourself, Cook."

"That's not true; I care—"

"Don't say me, Cook. You don't need to lie to me anymore."

Cook's voice was fierce and smug. "I was going to say I cared about Freddie. But I care about you, too. I love you to pieces, JJ."

JJ was bothered by the past tense. Freddie was still there to care about. "If you think that friendship stops at death, then I don't want to be your friend, Cook."

Cook set his jaw and exhaled several times before speaking. "You know, fuck you, Gay J," he murmured, his voice full of frustration. JJ was surprised; he'd expected to hear some hate. "If you think friendship falls apart every time there's a rough patch, then maybe I don't want to be your friend either." He walked slowly toward the door; JJ could tell that he was straining to keep his composure. The door closed with a click that echoed with more finality than would have come had he slammed it. JJ sighed and closed his eyes. He only remembered Karen when he looked at the chair and found her staring at him, her face stricken.

"I'm sorry, Karen," he immediately apologized.

She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. She looked at JJ before deciding to speak; it seemed that she'd abandoned her initial train of thought. "I miss him," she finally said.

"Me, too."

"I was talking about Cook."

"I know."

She looked at JJ as if she were scolding him. "Only one of them's gone forever, you know."

"Yes, and the other one is Freddie," JJ quipped. He quailed under Karen's stare. "I'm sorry, Karen. I just…I'm sorry. I'll just go."

Karen's voice stopped him in the doorway. "If Cook was as bad as you think he is, JJ, we wouldn't have been just sitting here right now."

JJ nodded as he walked away. He wasn't completely sure what she meant, but then again, when it came to Cook he wasn't completely sure of anything. He still had a lot to learn.

/

"JJ! I wondered when we'd be seeing you."

"Yes, well, you and Naomi are fun, after all. Can I come in?"

Emily smiled. "Of course." She stepped back and let JJ into the house. The door shut and the room darkened; it was only a little, but it was enough to dampen the mood. "How are you doing, Jay? Want some tea?"

JJ smiled weakly. "How about some juice?"

Emily led him to the kitchen. "Feeling a little stressed?" she asked as she poured him a cup.

JJ nodded. "Just a little." They sat down across from each other. "Is anyone here?"

"Naomi's always here, and I think Katie's sleeping, but other than that, no. Why, you wanna talk?"

JJ scrutinized Emily. She was a good friend; she was everything a friend should be—loyal, available, interested. JJ could always count on Emily for an attentive ear, and more importantly, an attentive brain. She wasn't just listening; she was thinking—helping.

"Who's your best friend, Emily?"

And yet. And yet, Emily wasn't Cook or Freddie. She didn't know that when JJ was seven, he sprained his finger and it was all Cook's fault, but JJ took the fall from his mom because it was the first time she ever met Cook and JJ had a feeling that if she didn't like, they wouldn't have been able to hang out. Emily didn't know that he still liked it when people walked on his left side because he found turning his head to the right to be extremely awkward.

Emily scrunched her eyebrows, thinking. "Probably Katie."

JJ couldn't hold back his surprise. "Why? I mean, that would be the obvious answer given the fact that you two are twins, but you don't seem all that close, and I've found that a certain level of emotional intimacy is needed for a very strong friendship. Besides, wouldn't the classification of "twin" outrank "friend," or even "best friend"? I won't deny that you and Katie seem to have gotten closer this year, but you still don't seem like sisters, let alone best friends."

"JJ."

He smiled sheepishly, realizing that he was rambling. "Right. But…really?"

Emily chuckled. "Yeah, really. You don't always have to be there to be a best friend. There are just times when something's going wrong and you need that one special person to make everything better. And maybe they're not always your favorite person; maybe sometimes you annoy each other. But there's still this…bond that you share, and it's something that you can never have with anyone else. Your best friend is that person who always shows up in the right way at the right time, even if they've missed the last fifty important moments."

JJ took a sip of his juice, thinking.

> _If_ **(1)** Cook is not always there for JJ, _and_ **(2)** Best friends aren't always the most reliable people ever, _then_ **(3)** Cook is JJ's best friend.

"Who's yours?"

JJ almost missed Emily's question. "I don't know," he finally said. "Is Cook here?"

Emily frowned slightly. "Haven't seen him for a while, but he's staying here so he should be here eventually. Why, do you need him?" JJ shook his head, and Emily smiled. "Jesus, JJ, chats with you are always so fucking cryptic. Didn't anyone ever teach you how to carry on a conversation?"

JJ downed his juice in one gulp. "Still learning, I guess."


	9. Karen, part ii

After JJ left, Karen didn't know what to do. It was barely one o'clock, and she had no way to pass the time. On a normal day, she'd be hanging with her friends, maybe needling Freddie for being a dork. But this wasn't a normal day. Karen didn't talk to many friends anymore because they didn't know how to act around her. They were quiet and hushed, and they whispered meaningless condolences when all Karen wanted them to do was listen. She wanted to talk about Freddie for hours; she wanted to tell someone just how stupid they were together and how much it meant to her. And yet, she didn't want to at the same time. Because if she had to explain the bond she had with Freddie, it would cheapen it. She needed to talk to someone who knew exactly what she meant without her saying anything.

Her head snapped when she heard a rustling by the door of the shed. She craned her neck and listened intently; after a few tense moments, she heard a muffled thud and the sounds of someone swearing.

"Dad, if that's you, you don't have to creep around, you know. You could just come in," she yelled, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. She knew it wasn't her dad.

"Has he gone?" a deep voice murmured.

Karen was so confused she forgot to be wary. "Who?"

"JJ, man, who the fuck do you think?"

Karen rolled her eyes and walked briskly from her chair, opening the door in a frustrated huff. "Have you been hiding here all this time?" she said to the empty air.

Cook poked his head from around a corner of the shed. He smiled—it was almost bashful. "Might have been. You gonna let me in?"

Karen walked back in the shed and let him follow her. "Sometimes you can be a bit creepy, Cook."

"Ah, you love it," he said dismissively. Karen sat back down in the chair; she expected Cook to resume sitting beneath her on the floor, but he didn't. He swept his gaze around the room, squinting to look at some things and widening his eyes for others. He stopped on the picture of him, Freddie, and JJ, and Karen could see something snap. Cook clenched his jaw and let out an almighty scream, yelling until his throat went raw. He punched the punching bag and punctuated each of his hits with a grunt. It was terrifying to watch, and yet Karen couldn't look away.

"Cook." He didn't stop. He pummeled the punching bag until it was swaying too much and he was missing more than he was hitting. He still tried, though. Cook always tried when something was important enough. "Cook, please stop." His grunts had turned into feeble moans, and Karen could hear the sobs they would become.

Cook turned his head to hers, and Karen had never seen anyone's eyes look so devastated. "Hit me," he rasped.

"What?"

"Take a shot at me. Come on, we both know I deserve it." Karen got up and tried to hug him instead. He jumped away from her touch. "Don't," he said hoarsely. "Punch me." Karen could only shake her head and protest noiselessly. "Hit me!" Cook screamed desperately.

Karen slapped him and watched a tear roll down his cheek. "You stop that," she said fiercely. "You think this is your fault?" Cook didn't look at her, but Karen could tell that's exactly what he thought. "You're fucking stupid if you do. It's that psycho Foster's fault, and that psycho bitch Effy's, but it's not yours. _You_ went to find him; _you_ tried to save him. I wanted to hate you, Cook." Karen was crying now, too; her words were coming out strangled and pitchy. "I wanted to hate you so badly because you were never good for Freddie and he got into so much trouble with you." Cook turned his head away even further, and Karen followed him, bending down so he had to look at her. "But then you do something like fuck up Foster, and I think, my God, he's the best thing that could have ever happened to Freddie, and he's good enough for me, too."

Cook snapped his head up and looked at her properly. "What?" he blurted.

"I think we're supposed to be together, Cook. I think we can have Freddie together."

Cook looked at her almost angrily, and then his eyes melted into sadness and relief and he flew at her. He kissed her hungrily, and she consumed him with just as much vigor. They sunk down and had quick, dirty sex on the hard, dirty floor, and then Cook looked at her and she learned that he was a gentle soul at heart.

In those moments afterward, after they had exchanged little bits of themselves and cherished them, Karen wasn't so surprised to realize that she loved Cook.

He loved her back, and that was enough. It would always be enough. With Cook, she didn't have to do any explaining. Together, she and Cook could keep Freddie alive.

/

The knocking at the door was faint, but Karen woke up just the same. Cook didn't. It was just past two thirty, and there was nothing that Karen wanted to do more than stay snuggled into Cook's arms. The floor of the shed was dusty and she could feel it infiltrating her hair, but Cook protected her and warmed her in a way she had never really fathomed. It wasn't life-changing or any of that kind of shit, but it was different enough to matter.

She was just about to get up and open the door when it opened anyway and the one person Karen didn't want to see walked in the door. She sprung from Cook's arms and pulled her shirt closer to her body.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her tone deliberately cold.

Effy looked shocked. "I just wanted to talk," she said dumbly. "To say…sorry, I guess."

Karen crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, you've said it." Effy wrinkled her brows in confusion. "You can go now." It was more than a suggestion. It was a demand.

Effy focused on something past Karen. "You're on her side, then?"

Karen turned around to see Cook standing behind her, his shirt off and his muscles locked. He could feel the tension, too, and he knew what it meant. He looked down at the ground before answering Effy's question. "I'm not on anyone's side, mate."

Effy nodded her head in resignation—she was hurt, and Karen didn't care. If it hadn't been for Effy, Freddie would still be alive. Karen couldn't forgive that, ever, no matter how much she knew Effy was hurting. Effy's pain was Karen's pleasure; her annihilation was Karen's salvation. 

"I thought you loved me, Cook," she whispered through tears.

"I do love you. Always will. I love Freds more, though." Effy looked to Karen smugly, as if she had just won some silent battle. Karen wasn't bothered, however, because Cook had said exactly what she wanted to hear. Karen and Cook loved each other, she was sure of that, but Freddie would always be number one in their hearts. Freddie was what connected them, and if they ever forgot him, the world wouldn't make sense anymore.

"And so, what? You're with Karen now because you love Freddie?"

Cook finally looked at her. "No. That's why I'm not with you. Loving you is too dangerous, Eff. Foster loved you, and look what happened."

Karen could see the fear in Effy's eyes. "What are you talking about, Cook?"

Cook's face softened, and Karen wished it wouldn't. Effy didn't deserve his kindness. "I went to Foster's that night we had the party here. Found Freds's bloody clothes, Foster attacked me and said that he was the only one who deserved you."

"And you think he's right?"

Cook shuffled his feet. "I think I can't be around you anymore, Eff."

"And I think you should go," Karen cut in. "If you think that Cook can't stand to be around you, just try to imagine how much I can't stand you."

"Karen, I…"

"Don't even try it, Effy. You got my brother killed. He was fucking everything to me, do you know that? You think you loved him? You never had shit on how much I loved him. So you can fuck off for all I care. Because if I ever see you again, I'll do more than tell you how much I hate you. I'll fucking show you, and you can hold me to that."

Effy gave Cook one more look, one more pleading glance, and her chin quivered. She ran out the door, and as soon as she was gone, Karen buried herself in Cook's arms. He rested his chin on her head; Karen closed her eyes and loved him with every inch of her being.

"I do still love her, Karen. I don't want you to think I don't. Can't lie to you." His jaw was jarring against her scalp as it clamped down and dug in with every syllable; she dismissed the uncomfortable feeling. The words were important, not what it felt like to be hearing them.

"I know," she murmured against his chest. "But you're done with her, right?"

Cook hummed his confirmation. "I'm well shut of her."

"Why?" she pressed. She looked up at him, though he kept his eyes trained ahead of him. A faraway look washed over him, and Karen knew he wasn't seeing anything in the shed.

"Because," he said softly. "She drives me mad."

Karen smiled lasciviously. "I can drive you mad, too."

Cook smiled back, and a glimmer of the Cookie Monster twinkled past the shadows on his face. "Yeah, but your madness is the kind I can handle, ain't it?" He thrust his hips against hers, and Karen laughed for the first time in days. She pushed him down on the chair, and for the third time that day, they invaded each other. It was intrusive, but neither of them cared. They accepted it—welcomed it, even. The way Cook moved inside her and caressed her took away the loneliness and replaced it with hope.

It almost made Karen laugh, the idea that Cook, world-class fuckup, a lost cause with no chance for a future, filled her with hope, but there it was. Life was funny, sometimes, and the only thing you could do was laugh along with it. Cook was good at laughing, and Karen figured that since Cook was the only thing she was good at, she might try laughing, too.

/

They laughed a lot that day. Karen felt the sun shining and laughed. Cook laughed at the clouds, and Karen laughed at Cook laughing. They laughed and fell into each other; they cried until they laughed and laughed until they cried. Sometimes the crying won over the laughter and Karen felt ashamed, but she never explained herself. Cook didn't ask, either.

He got everything. He got Karen, and that was enough. He didn't need to get anything more; how could she ask for more when that was all she had ever wanted? Freddie had known that and got it. Cook had known Freddie, and now he knew Karen.

It was more than enough. It was what kept her alive.

Karen knew that Cook would always come back to her; she knew that for certain now.

It gave her hope, and she laughed.


	10. Effy, part ii

" _Loving you is too dangerous, Eff. Foster loved you, and look what happened."_

Living was dangerous. Effy had learned that very early on, when she would watch Tony sneak in and out of the house. He never seemed to see the dangers he faced every day, but then again, he didn't see that bus either. Ever since Tony's accident, Effy saw the bus everywhere. Wherever she saw the bus, she made a note to stay away. Mind you, she liked risk, but she was wary of danger. There was a difference, one that not too many people could distinguish. Cook thought he could tell the difference, but he was wrong. Tony was great at telling the difference, made it his whole life, even, but he got arrogant and ended up on the wrong side of danger.

It was only Effy's ability to see the danger that got her through each day. If she couldn't recognize the danger, she couldn't live. The first time she saw Freddie, she didn't just see the bus—he _was_ the bus. He was a whole fleet of buses charging after her, going 100 miles an hour down a hill and all of their brakes were broken. It was why she couldn't stop him when he finally, inevitably, crashed into her.

Foster was the bus she didn't see, and he didn't even knock her down. He opened the door and she got on willingly; she rode his bus with no intention of ever getting off unless she needed to.

In the end, it didn't even come to that. In the end, both of her buses collided and Effy wasn't even sure that she had survived the crash because she couldn't sense the danger.

/

Effy walked home from Freddie's shed in a daze. She wanted to forget that it was summer, but the sun wouldn't let her.

/

"Effy? Is that you, darling?"

Effy closed the door to her house and ignored her mother's question. Anthea had been trying ever since Effy had gotten home from the hospital, but their relationship was strained. It was as if Anthea expected her to explode at any given moment, and sometimes that's what Effy felt like doing—she just wished her mum realized that it was okay for teenagers to explode sometimes. Just because Effy had a minor meltdown didn't mean that it would happen every time she got frustrated or upset. Besides, they seemed to run in the family.

"Did you hear me, sweetheart?" Anthea's face popped in from the bottom of the stairs and Effy turned around reluctantly. She had almost managed to escape.

"Sorry, mum, had my music turned up loudly," she lied, knowing full well that her mum could clearly see that Effy didn't have any headphones in.

"Oh, well, okay," her mum replied stiffly. "Listen, it's just gone three o'clock—have you eaten? I could make you something for lunch if you want. I know it's late, but…"

Effy couldn't fault her mum for trying at least, so she let herself be led into the kitchen even though she wanted to be far away from everyone. She sat at the table and watched her mum haphazardly pull together leftovers from a meal that Effy didn't even remember having for the first time.

Anthea set a plate down in front of Effy with a bit of trepidation. "Where have you been all day? Come to think of it, did you even come home last night? I feel like I haven't seen you too much lately."

Effy took a nibble of her food. She didn't taste it. "Out."

"Oh." Anthea nodded. "Have you been out with your friends?" She watched Effy push food around her plate; Effy could feel her mother's probing eyes. She wanted to look back at her, but she could only see the pasta on her plate and think about how it had been Freddie's go-to food when he was stoned and got the munchies. It wasn't the memory that bothered her; what made her upset was the fact that something as insignificant as a plate of pasta could draw her to tears. She was Effy Stonem, for Christ's sake. She wasn't some normal, sappy girl.

Effy pushed her pasta into a mound at the center of her plate. "Sort of."

Anthea propped her head on her hand. "How are they doing? I haven't seen much of them lately; what's going on with everyone? How's Freddie?"

Effy shrugged and started mashing her pasta into little bits with the side of her fork.

Anthea leaned in closer to Effy. "Are you alright, Effy?"

Effy couldn't stop the tears that wound their way down her cheeks. "I'm fine," she said.

Anthea covered Effy's hand with her own. "You don't seem fine." It wasn't a question, so Effy didn't say anything. "Is it Freddie?" her mum prodded. "Have you broken up…again?"

Effy finally looked at her mum. "Freddie's dead," she said simply. "Dr. Foster killed him." She scooted her chair back and got up from the table.

Her mum followed her as she headed for the stairs. "Effy, please come back. Do you want to…I mean, that's—God, that's terrible. Are you—can I do anything? I know I didn't look after you when Tony had his accident, but I'd like to help you. Effy?"

Effy was halfway up the stairs. "Just leave me alone, mum."

"Effy, I don't think I should. Come down and we'll talk. I love you, sweetie. I want to help you."

Effy spun on her heels so quickly that Anthea gasped. "Don't say that," she said fiercely.

"Don't say what?"

"That you love me. Don't say that."

Anthea looked crushed. "Why not?"

Effy turned to walk away. "Because Freddie loved me." She shut the door to her room and collapsed on the bed. She fell asleep with her eyes open, watching out for any danger.

/

_It wasn't really a place, where she was standing. It was a room, to be sure, but nothing else existed outside of it. The walls were only dimly defined, and the door was floating some three inches above the ground. The walls were grey, but if she moved her head really quickly, short bursts of red and orange danced across her vision. If she tried to look for them, they vanished. It was the most beautiful place Effy had ever seen._

" _Effy."_

_Effy turned around at the sound of a voice behind her. It wasn't that she was startled; she just didn't think that anyone should speak in her room. It was special._

_Freddie walked toward her slowly, perfectly healthy and smiling. He smelled just like he always did—a subtle mixture of spliff and boy._

" _I hate you," she said monotonously._

_His grin widened. "No, you don't," he said. "You hate that you love me."_

" _How do you know?"_

" _Because it's how I feel, too."_

_Effy smirked. "You can't feel anything," she said viciously. "You're dead."_

" _Yeah, well, you killed me," Freddie countered._

_Effy shied away from him. "Please don't say that."_

_Freddie grabbed her wrists in his hands. "I didn't mean it," he said softly. "I just needed you to listen." He kissed her gently on the lips; Effy literally felt time stop. "I'll always love you," he mumbled into her mouth._

_Effy choked on a sob. "Then you'll always die," she groaned. "Just stop it."_

_He kissed her again, deeper this time. "Can't," he whispered. "No one can."_

_Effy chuckled ruefully. "Everyone loves me," she spat._

" _And everyone dies," Freddie continued. "Though one really has nothing to do with the other."_

" _Doesn't it?"_

_Freddie swept back a lock of hair from her forehead. "No." He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Effy closed her eyes and melted into his touch; sometimes, she was okay with being a sappy girl. "You look different," Freddie said as he smiled again._

_Effy smiled, too. "Good different, or bad different?"_

" _Just different," he said. And with that, he was gone. Effy looked around the room, trying to find some way to get out, but the door only opened and closed. It didn't go anywhere. There was a mirror on one of the walls; it hadn't been there before. She walked over there, intending to see if she could figure out what was different._

_When she flicked her eyes up to the mirror, she was terrified. Her head had turned into a bus. She opened up her mouth to scream, but the only sound that came out was a great long honk. It was a deafening swelling of sound, and Effy felt herself fall as the ground opened up beneath her._

_/_

Effy woke suddenly, falling out of bed as her feet failed to overcome the knots made by the sheets. She ran to the bathroom and made sure her face was the right face before running out the door. She sent a text to the one person she was sure would always love her the right way. Effy checked the time before she flipped her phone closed.

5:07.

Hopefully, in little less than an hour and a half, she'd have gotten rid of the danger.

/

There was a precipice in the forest, one that Effy had found only after a good forty five minutes of searching. It seemed out of place, a great big rock in the midst of crunchy leaves and fallen branches, but then again, so did Effy. She didn't fit anywhere else in the woods; her feet effortlessly found two indentations in the rock and slid into them. They were an awkward distance apart and made her stand bow-legged, but she couldn't leave. It was where she was meant to be.

Standing on the edge, she looked down and felt her vision narrow until it was barely wider than a pencil. She could see a fleck of brown directly beneath her; Effy imagined that it was a walking stick and focused her aim on it. When the time was right, she'd discover just what it really was.

She had come here because this was where the unraveling had started, and it was here that it would end. If she could fall in love here, maybe she could fall out of love, too.

Fall out of love…and fall out of danger.

/

_The wind was picking up quickly; Effy closed her eyes and let it prance across her face. When she opened her eyes again, Freddie was standing in front of her and blowing a soft stream of air across her cheeks. Effy giggled and closed her eyes again._

_He was gone the next time she opened her eyes, but she could still feel his breath dangling in front of her. She leaned forward to try and catch it, ignoring the shouts as someone called her name._

" _Effy! Effy!"_

_I'll be there soon, Freds, she thought. Then you can love me all you want and none of it will matter._

"Effy!" A scared voice echoed somewhere in the distance. "Effy, where are you?"

"I'm telling you, she's not here. Let's just, like, go back to the car, yeah?" A second voice chimed in over the rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs.

"She's here, Katie. Just help me fucking find her and then you can leave, okay?"

"Fine," Katie snapped back. "But let's find her quickly, yeah? These fucking sticks are like murder on my legs."

The voices were closer, and Effy panicked. She looked around for a way to stay hidden and her eyes landed on another rock. It was a big, flat one, and it put her up even higher than she was at the moment. If she angled herself the right way, she could hide behind the trees and hopefully never be seen.

She clambered up to the top and would have made it, but the rock was slick from a recent rain. She slipped once and cursed as quietly as possible, but she heard the voices head in her direction.

"There, we found her. Now, go collect her and let's go home." Katie tried to sound bitchy and indifferent, but Effy could hear the fear in her voice.

"Eff? What are you doing?" Naomi sounded even more scared. Effy straightened up on the rock and looked down instead of answering. "That's a really tall rock, Eff. Why don't you come down and we can go back to my place?"

"I don't want to," Effy said.

Naomi quickly changed tactics. "Okay, well then we'll just stay here until you're ready to come down."

"If you think—"

"Shut up, Katie," Naomi snapped. "If you want to fuck off, be my guest. But I'm staying."

Effy didn't need to see Katie's face to know that she was blushing. "Sorry." The apology was reluctant, but it was genuine.

Effy smirked. "You've changed, Katie."

There was a pause before Katie answered. "Yeah, I guess I have. I'm not who I was last year."

"Good for you," Effy quipped. "Too bad I still am."

"Who says that's a bad thing?" Naomi asked softly. Her voice was closer than it had been the last time she spoke. Effy had to give them credit; they were sneakier than she had thought.

"I do."

"Well, we don't think so. Do we, Katie?" There was a soft thud behind Effy.

"Ouch—fuck, Naomi! I mean, er, right. We don't think that at all."

Effy chuckled sadly. "Real convincing there, Katiekins." She leaned her head forward and relished in Naomi and Katie's startled gasps.

"Please come down, Effy," Katie said quickly. She sounded terrified.

"Why should I?"

"Why shouldn't you?" Naomi countered. In any other circumstance, it would have been childish.

"Because Freddie loved me."

"So?" Katie sounded sincerely confused. "We lo—" There was another thud, this time a little louder. "Fucking _ow_! What the fuck?"

"Eff, it's not going to get better." Effy smiled; at least Naomi knew what to say.

"But it could get worse," Effy added.

"No, it can't," Naomi said vehemently. "You have us." She had to be standing directly behind Effy, she was so close.

"And what can you do for me?"

It was Katie who answered, her voice thick with tears. "Help you forget Freddie." Effy whipped around sharply and tried to burn a hole in Katie's face with her eyes. "Some people need to remember him. I know I do. I think you need to forget. So come down, and I can remember for you, and you can forget." Katie held out her hand, and in spite of her shaky voice, her fingers were unwavering in their acceptance.

Effy looked at both Katie and Naomi—they were physically closer than she'd like, but she knew that emotionally, they were just as close as she needed them to be. They weren't trying to fix her. They were trying to let her be. As wonderful as that sounded, Effy didn't know if she was ready for it. She didn't know if she could simply be without being dangerous, and if there was anyone that Effy didn't want to put in danger, it was these two. They'd had enough danger as it was.

It was Naomi who made up her mind. Effy saw Naomi's eyes looking at her, and she could tell that Naomi could see the danger. She saw the bus everywhere, and she didn't care.

It was Naomi who made up her mind, but it was the rock that changed it. She had barely let a small smile grace her features when she remembered that the rock was slippery. She fell so quickly that she didn't have time to reach out a hand and stop herself.

The wind whipped her hair into a frenzy and suddenly, Freddie was back blowing in her face. She didn't wince as her head struck the ground. Instead, as she heard Naomi and Katie call out her name, she smiled wider and drank in the heady rush of relief.


	11. Naomi, part ii

These were not happy times, and yet Naomi could feel herself perking up. She felt horrible for thinking it, but she had gotten over Freddie's death—she hadn't known him that well, and all she could really do was focus on what she was good at: comforting Emily. She was good at hurting Emily, too, but she didn't like to think about that. It wasn't who she was anymore. She was Naomi the Comforter, Naomi the Long Armed Girl who Gave Great Hugs—Naomi the Friend. She'd been all about herself for so long that she'd forgotten what it meant to be there for someone else. So she learned.

She learned how being a good friend to Cook meant letting him sort out his shit, but stopping him before he got to wallowing. She learned that being a good girlfriend meant putting Emily to sleep by rubbing tiny circles into the small of her back. She learned that being a good friend to Katie meant swallowing her pride, taking a few (somewhat undeserved) jabs, and getting over her fear of touching the elder twin. (Katie and Emily were alike in at least one way apart from their looks—they both clung like leeches).

She learned that comforting was a two-way street.

What she didn't learn, and what was keeping her puzzled on this lazy summer afternoon, was how to be a good friend to Effy. She'd tried all the normal things—promises of support, hushed sympathetic tones of voice—but nothing seemed to work. Effy was truly an enigma, but Naomi was determined to crack her.

Naomi jumped when her phone buzzed in her lap. _Speak of the devil_ , Naomi thought as she saw who the text was from.

_Going to the End. Love you. Bye. E xx._

Naomi's heart fell out of rhythm. She bolted off of the sofa and started looking around for her shoes.

"Fuck!" she shouted a little louder than necessary. "Fucking shitty wanking tit fuck!" She found one shoe and jammed it on her foot before resuming her search.

Emily and Katie bounded into the room. "Shout a little louder, Naomi, I bet they haven't heard you in London," Katie quipped. Naomi ignored her.

"What's going on, Naoms?" Emily asked.

Naomi looked up just long enough to toss her phone to Emily. "Got this from Effy. I need to go. I need a car, but first I need to find my fucking shoes."

Emily read the text and seemed unperturbed. "Why? It's just a weird text. It _is_ Effy, after all."

Katie, too curious to be left out, peered over Emily's shoulder and read it, too. Her face paled. "Jesus Christ, it's not just a weird text. We have to go."

Emily huffed in frustration; Naomi was surprised she didn't add a petulant foot stamp as well. "What is the big deal? It's Effy. She's a little weird sometimes. Why is this any different?"

Naomi almost explained everything to Emily. Instead, she rolled her eyes, which was probably unfair because Emily didn't really know Effy. Emily was great at reading people, but she'd never had a chance to learn just how to read Effy. Naomi knew Effy because she knew herself, and they were more alike than she'd care to be ( _too_ much alike, it sometimes seemed). Katie knew Effy because she was there when Effy cut herself, and so they both knew that this text wasn't just a text. It was a desperate, desperate cry for help, and Naomi was not one to turn away an outreached hand.

"Where do you think she's going?" Naomi mumbled as she shoved the other shoe on her foot.

"I don't know," Katie answered, "but we'd better figure it out fast."

"You can take my moped," Emily suggested. Naomi got the feeling that Emily didn't like being useless.

"Uh, Ems, we can't fit three people on your moped, yeah?"

"What Katie means is that we need a car, Em. We've got to get Effy back here somehow."

Emily sighed and left the room, coming back quickly with a set of keys dangling from her index finger. "Dad dropped these off a few weeks ago, said I could take the van in emergencies."

For a moment, Effy was forgotten and Katie was offended. "Why don't I get a copy of the van's keys?" Emily and Naomi raised their eyebrows in disbelief. "I'm a good driver!" Katie huffed. "I only ran over some stuff, like, three times! And besides, what are rabbits really good for, anyway?"

Naomi grabbed the keys from Emily and pecked her quickly on the lips. "Thanks, babe." She turned back toward Katie and made her way to the door. "Come on, Elmer Fudd. Let's go."

/

Naomi knew she was never going to be a favorite with any Fitches other than Emily, so she figured she had free reign to piss them off as much as possible. Apparently, that included not-so-subtly stealing their van in the middle of the day while their other daughter screamed obscenities at Jenna and Rob tried not to chuckle. Naomi was starting to like Katie Fitch a whole lot more.

However, she didn't like sitting in a car with just her. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. Naomi and Katie may not have hated each other, but that didn't really mean they were all that chummy.

Naomi stopped feeling awkward for a second and looked up at the street signs. _Fuck_. She flipped on her turn signal a second too late and swerved left. Katie, who hadn't been paying attention, flew to the right with very little grace. Naomi had to hold back a laugh.

"Right, and _I'm_ the bad driver here. What the fuck, Naomi?"

"When I start killing innocent animals, then you can yell at me."

"Oh, I haven't done that in at least six months. More to the point, where the hell are we going?"

Naomi took her eyes off the road for just a second to glare at Katie. It was worth it. "Gobbler's End," she said as if it were the most obvious thing ever.

"How did you come up with that?" Katie scoffed.

Naomi sighed exasperatedly. "She capitalized 'End,' Katie. Plus, Gobbler's End was all about Freddie, and Eff is all about Freddie, right? Or at least, she was, I guess…" Naomi amended uncomfortably.

Katie got quiet, too, and turned her head toward the window. "Why aren't you more sad?" she asked after a moment.

"I am sad," Naomi answered softly. "Probably as sad as you are, just not about Freddie. We weren't really great friends, you know. So I'm sad for other people. Always have been, always will be." She flicked on her turn signal again and pushed the gas a little harder. She could feel Katie's eyes on her cheek.

"You really love her, don't you?" It wasn't an accusatory question—there was no derision or disdain; it wasn't posed with malice or any intentions of pain. Katie was genuinely asking, like a friend might do, and if anything, she seemed sad. Not surprisingly, Naomi's heart felt sad, too.

"Yeah, I do," she said without further explanation. It was enough. "And I meant what I said earlier. I really am sorry for you. You know, about Freddie. I know you loved him."

Katie shook her head sadly. "I don't think I ever did. But I know I wanted to."

"Well, he loved you."

Again, Katie shook her head, and again, Naomi felt sad. "Not like he loved Effy."

"No," Naomi conceded. "But you can't really compare anything to their bond. It was…unique."

"Kind of like with you and Emily." Katie said it so softly and yet so surely that Naomi almost stopped the car. Instead, she slowed down and took a good long look in Katie's eyes. They were ridiculously vulnerable and open, and it shocked the hell out of Naomi.

"What?" Naomi blurted.

Katie laughed quietly. "You may have a terrible fashion sense, Naomi, but you sure know how to pick your women." Naomi could only look at Katie in disbelief. "You should, like, see the look on your face right now. Totally classic," Katie joked.

"Katie, I—"

"Right, let's get this out of the way," Katie interrupted. "You're a cow, a twat, a total loser; you can't dress, you like all the wrong things; you talk too much, you're the only one who thinks you're funny—and you're totally perfect for Emily and I'm jealous of how much you love each other, and if you ever tell Emily _any_ of this, I will break into your house and murder you in your sleep because I know where you live."

Naomi blinked back tears and affected a smarmy smile. "Love you too, Katiekins," she said in an overly sugary voice.

Katie smiled, too—it was a small one, but it was a smile. "Oh, fuck off, Naomi."

Instead, Naomi grabbed her hand and held it for the rest of the car ride.

/

Gobbler's End was creepy when they finally got there, but that was exactly how Naomi remembered. Unfortunately, as she and Katie wound their way through the bramble and soggy mud, it was lacking one key element—Effy. They'd passed her car on the way in, Naomi was sure of it, but they hadn't come across Effy herself yet, and that scared Naomi. Effy was good at hiding; if she didn't want to be found, you wouldn't ever see her. Naomi could only hope that a small part of Effy didn't actually want to kill herself, because the only way they were going to save Effy was if she let them.

Katie, on the other hand, made it very clear about two minutes in that she wasn't too keen on their search-and-rescue mission. She kept a running commentary about the mud, and the sticks, and the heat, and how they didn't really need to keep looking for that long because if Effy really wanted to, like, off herself, she wouldn't have waited for a fucking audience. Naomi was pretty sure that Katie was only talking out of nerves, but it was still irritating. So she not-so-subtly reminded Katie of the rescue party that had searched for her when she was lying in these same woods.

Katie glared at her and Naomi remembered that they just so happened to be looking for the person who had incapacitated Katie in the first place, and these weren't really the same circumstances at all. That realization only made Naomi respect Katie a little more for not walking away. Instead of yelling at Katie, she told her to start calling Effy's phone. It was an unlikely and desperate idea, but this was a desperate situation.

In the end, it wasn't the ringing of a phone that alerted them to Effy's whereabouts. It was Effy herself, and Naomi heaved a sigh of relief.

She wasn't a religious person at all, but she sure as hell threw up thanks to whoever the hell was listening.

And then it all went to shit.

/

It was a few seconds before Naomi and Katie remembered to move again—too soon for Naomi to face anything, and yet she had to. Effy looked so tiny lying on the forest floor; her hair was splayed and her arm was lying awkwardly across her stomach. If Naomi hadn't known better, she'd have thought Effy was sleeping. It was her eyes that gave her away, though—they weren't completely closed, and the thin line of white peeping out from under Effy's eyelids gave Naomi the creeps.

Naomi knelt down to get a better look at Effy and really perused her motionless form. It was an odd time to be thinking this, but Naomi realized right then just how beautiful Effy was.

"Well," she said seriously, "at least you had the good sense to fall off the right side of the rock."

Katie's hasty gasp behind her told Naomi that that was absolutely the wrong thing to say; Effy's growing, rumbling laugh said differently.

Naomi pulled Effy to her feet slowly and as gently as possible, but that didn't stop her from wincing and placing a hand on her temple. "Fuck, that hurts," she moaned. "Ouch! What the fuck! So did that," she added; Katie had just landed a swift and concentrated punch to Effy's shoulder.

"You don't do that!" Katie scolded. "Okay? Do you hear me? You don't do that _ever_."

Effy nodded sheepishly and followed them back to the car. Neither Katie nor Naomi ever let go of her.

/

Naomi had suggested that Effy sleep on the way back home, but it was Katie who ended up listening to her.

Effy, for her part, wanted to talk.

She sat in the passenger seat and Naomi never once looked at her; it was easier that way. Instead, she kept her free hand visible at all times, and more than once, Effy reached over for reassurance.

"Does your head hurt?" Naomi asked softly.

"Not too badly," Effy replied. "Take a few aspirin when we get back and I'll be fine. Well," she huffed, "my head will be fine. I won't," she sulked.

Naomi checked her mirrors. "Maybe not today, but eventually you will be." Effy didn't say anything; fifteen minutes passed in silence, other than the soft breaths from Katie in the backseat.

"Why'd you do it, Eff?" Naomi asked quietly. She wasn't sure if it was okay to be asking that question, but she needed to know. She needed to understand Effy.

"You love me, right, Naomi?" Naomi nodded. "Well, sometimes I can't handle that, from anyone. From everyone. Sometimes I just feel like people's lives would be easier without me."

"Eff, everyone's scared of love."

Effy sighed. "Yeah, but the first person I loved got hit by a bus, and the last person I loved got hit with a bat. I'm destruction, Naomi. I don't know if I'm allowed to love someone. I definitely don't think I'm allowed to be loved."

Naomi flicked on her turn signal a little harder than necessary. "Eff, love isn't something you're entitled to; you don't just not get love because you're a little fucked up. We're all fucked up—look at me, for Christ's sake. You can try to distance yourself from love as much as you want; it's always going to come back to you. Trust me, I _know_."

Effy grabbed for her hand and held Naomi's first two fingers in a death grip. "I just," she said through tears. "I don't want to be a burden."

Naomi squeezed Effy's hand back just as tightly. "You're not a burden, Effy. You're just scared." She could feel Effy start to protest, but Naomi wasn't done speaking. "Truth," she said a little too quickly.

"That obvious, is it?"

Naomi smiled. "Don't have to be a genius to work it out. So?"

"So I might be scared."

"Sure?"

"If I said yes, would I regret it?"

"Probably, but not because of me." Effy clasped their hands together properly; she brought Naomi's hand up to her lips and kissed it. Naomi reached over blindly and ruffled Effy's hair.

"I'm sorry, Naomi," Effy said in a strangled voice.

"Don't ever be sorry for who you are, Eff," Naomi said fiercely. "We're always here for you, okay? We won't judge you for loving us. In fact, we'd love it if you'd love us." Effy giggled.

"I'm gonna make things right, Naomi."

Naomi shook her head. "No, you make _you_ right, Eff. Let 'things' come to you."

A few minutes later, Effy's breathing evened out and Naomi was left to her own devices. She spent the rest of the car ride looking at Effy every chance she could and crying silent tears.

/

They got home late at night. Naomi ushered Katie and Effy into Katie's room; they'd both decided that it would be best if she didn't sleep alone. Once she was sure they were settled in, she slipped in her room, expecting Emily to be asleep. Instead, all the lights were on, and Emily was waiting for Naomi in bed.

Naomi snuggled into Emily, savoring the feel of human contact, appreciating it. "I can't stay for right now; I have to go talk to Cook."

Emily kissed Naomi's shoulder blade. "I know. Is Effy alright?"

Naomi sighed. "If by that you mean alive, then yes. Otherwise, I don't know. But I told her she has to stay here so I can keep an eye on her."

Emily flipped around so she was looking at Naomi. She was smiling for the first time in days. "Naomi Campbell," she said coyly, "you are your mother."

"What?" Naomi blurted as if she had just received ghastly news. "No, I'm not. My mum's an annoying cow."

"Oh, well, I guess you're right," Emily teased. "You're not a cow." Naomi smacked her lightly. "But then again—how many people do we have living here?"

Naomi quickly counted in her head. "Five, seven if you count my mum and Kieran when they get back."

"Are any of them paying rent?"

Naomi crinkled her brow. "No."

Emily grinned widely. "I believe that's called communal living, Naoms."

Naomi frowned. "Well, shit."

Emily kissed the tip of Naomi's nose. "It's why I love you. If you ever stop being so generous and caring, I'll be forced to leave." Naomi looked down in shame; that was still a sensitive topic. "Sorry," Emily winced. "You know I love you, right? Wonderful, scary forever love kind of thing?"

Naomi searched Emily's eyes and smiled. "Yeah, I know. I love you, too." She kissed Emily lightly on the lips and untangled herself from Emily's arms. "I'll be back; I have to go talk to Cook." Emily nodded and let go of her, and Naomi slipped down the stairs with the ease of a cat.

Cook was sitting stiffly on the sofa, his eyes not really looking anywhere.

"Cook? Are you okay?"

He drew his eyes over to hers. "Better now that you're here, Blondie."

Naomi smiled. "Well, Effy's here, too. I just wanted to let you know."

"Thanks."

Naomi stood awkwardly, not sure if she should go or not. "She tried to kill herself again, Cook." Cook didn't say anything, but his muscles tensed and his jaw clenched. "Just thought you ought to know that, too."

Cook got up and enveloped Naomi in a bone-crushing hug and buried his head in her shoulder. He was the same height as her; she forgot that most of the time because he had such a commanding presence. Today, he looked two feet tall and frail as a pebble.

"Freddie's funeral is in two days," he mumbled. "Karen told me."

Naomi closed her eyes sadly. "Okay. It's okay," she said as she rubbed his back. He clung to her far longer than she expected. Eventually, they broke apart and Cook returned to the couch looking a little more peaceful.

"You've got someone waiting for you in the kitchen," he said as she walked away. Naomi smiled in thanks and changed direction. She wasn't prepared for what was waiting for her on the other side of the door.

"Is it raining, love?"

Naomi didn't know what to do other than stare. "What? No, why?"

Gina pointed at Naomi's shoulder. "Your shirt is wet." Naomi touched the fabric and realized that Cook must have been crying. She hadn't even noticed. "It seems I'm out of a bed for a while," her mum said lightly. Naomi could tell she wasn't bothered at all. "It's okay; I didn't really want to finish traveling anyway. Kieran and I can shack up at his place for a few days. Are you alright, Naomi? You look a little tired. Has Emily been keeping you up late?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"Mum, could you just shut up for a second?" Naomi immediately felt bad for her harsh tone; she was just so exhausted. "Sorry. You're right; I am tired. I'm really glad to see you, Mum," she said as tears sprang to her eyes.

Gina crossed the room in a flash and wiped the tears from Naomi's eyes with her thumb. "Hey, it's going to be alright, love. Whatever it is, you're going to be okay."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Naomi muttered. She ran her hands through her hair and looked up at her mum. "I mean, could you…can you just hold me?" she said in a small voice.

As her mum gathered her in her arms, Naomi couldn't help but think that Emily had paid her one hell of a compliment today.


	12. Freddie

Everyone was sitting in the front row; even Thomas and Pandora had managed to show up, though no one had seen either of them for days. Pandora held Effy's hand as Effy sat stiffly. No one said anything; they were just ready to listen.

"Today we celebrate the life of Frederick McClair—generous friend, loving brother, and devoted son. Today we remember him not for how he died, but for how he lived, and how he enriched the lives of those who loved him. We honor him today and all the days after by keeping his memory alive, though his body is at rest."

/

"I've known Freds for a long time—since we were eight, actually, so that's almost half my life. It's more than most people can say, I guess. He used to look at me like I was still a kid, even when we got older. Cook told me that that wasn't always a good thing, but I think Freddie secretly liked it. It meant that he could be a kid around me, and it meant that I always loved him as unconditionally as a child does. Well, I finally grew up, and I have to say, it isn't all that it's cracked up to be. When Freddie died, I loved him the same way I always have, and I always will love that way. Freds, I may be an adult now, but for you, I'll always be a kid."

.

JJ didn't really pay too much attention to the service; the preacher wasn't really saying anything important. He didn't know what it meant to be Freddie's friend, how good it felt to always have someone by your side. He didn't know that Freddie was the only one who wanted to be around JJ when JJ was too scared to be around Cook. The preacher was talking about love and friendship like they were really generic things; he was plugging Freddie's name into a speech that he'd given a thousand times before. He didn't say anything about how Freddie would sacrifice so much for his friends because that was the only thing he was truly exceptional at. He may not have been the best in school, but he was great at loving people.

JJ had learned how to love from Freddie, and he had come to realize that he was never done learning.

> _If_ **(1)** Freddie teaches JJ how to love, _and_ **(2)** Love never dies, _then_ **(3)** Freddie will never die.

/

"Freddie and I didn't talk very much, but I can remember one conversation that we had. It was during those stupid school elections. He was talking about someone else, but he was looking at Cook. He said to me, "It should make a difference when someone loves you, shouldn't it?" I was too afraid to answer it then, but now I can say that yes, it absolutely should. And it has. Freddie loved all of us, and it made a difference."

.

Naomi didn't do much that day. She just listened; she was good at it. She did exactly what the preacher told her to do: sit and remember. It was enough. She remembered her conversation with Freddie, and she squeezed Emily's hand. It made all the difference in the world.

/

"Freddie was a good guy. He dated my sister once, but she won't say anything today because she always told me I was better with words. Well…today I don't know what to say. I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we miss Freddie. He was a good guy and a great friend, and we all miss him."

.

The tears that had threatened to consume Emily ever since Cook broke the news were finally starting to eke their way out of her eyes. She held Naomi's hand in her right and latched onto Katie's arm in a death grip with her left. She needed human contact today, because for once, words weren't nearly enough.

/

They lowered Freddie into the ground at 10:27 that morning. There wasn't a dry eye to be seen anywhere; tears glinted off cheeks in the bright sunlight. Noses sniffled all around and occasionally Freddie's dad let out a grunt of despair. The grass was waving in the breeze and it tickled the legs of the mourners. Next to Freddie's gravestone was his mother's; it was pure white next to Freddie's charcoal grey.

People started clearing out after about fifteen minutes; you could only look at a hole in the ground for so long. Soon, only the important people were left—Freddie's family, and his odd, and recently lonely, group of friends. Karen stuck out like a sore thumb because she fit into both groups. Today, however, she clung to her father. They held each other like they would die if they let go, and maybe they would. They had known enough loss to realize that it can hit anyone at any time. It wasn't judgmental or picky; it didn't select those who could afford to go. Sometimes it was spiteful, and sometimes it was arbitrary, but it was always impulsive. It picked you out of a crowd and said, "You. You're the one I want today." You never had a chance once it set your sights on you, and it seemed that Karen and Leo McClair were permanently on its radar.

"Nobody wanted Freddie to go," Karen said softly. Everyone listened. "He didn't want to go. He fought like hell to stay here. He fought like hell to stay around the people he loved, and that's all anyone can ask for, really. But it's not enough," she said, her voice cracking. "I just want my brother back." She buried her face in her father's chest while Cook looked on sadly. It didn't look like he thought he was enough, either.

/

Eventually, Freddie's family left, too. Her father had to organize the reception at the house. Karen stayed, though. For today, she had to appreciate Freddie like a friend because that was the best way anyone had known him. Cook, Karen, JJ, Emily, Pandora, Thomas, Naomi, Katie and Effy stood in a circle around Freddie's grave—they had each thrown a handful of dirt on the coffin, but each pile became indistinguishable from all the others once the gravediggers had brought out the shovels. Only a corner of the coffin was visible now—the dirt still hadn't been packed in. A corner was all they had of Freddie, and it wasn't even big enough for all of them to hold onto.

"Freddie was the best friend I've ever had, and the best person I've ever known," Cook said, the words leaving his throat in the most painful way possible. "And that's all you need to know about him."

A sob strangled him as it tried to leave his throat. Cook tried to suppress it, but he lost. For once, the grief overwhelmed him. There were no Dr. Fosters to beat up now; he couldn't channel his sadness into rage anymore. He was fighting a battle against an invisible foe, and he was losing. He was losing badly—limbs were being broken; hearts were stomped on and lungs were crushed. It wasn't a battle. It was a massacre.

When he sank to his knees because his legs were too tired to care about keeping him up, Naomi sank down with him.

She wasn't the one he needed comfort from.

/

Effy didn't give a speech that day. She didn't have to say anything, not when she could stand and stare at Freddie's coffin and let the wind take her breath away. She didn't say anything because there were no words, no magically crafted sentences that could express just how vacant she felt.

You couldn't be full of words when you were empty inside. It wasn't allowed.

/

JJ looked around at his broken friends and asked the one question they were all thinking.

"What do we do now?"


	13. Pandora

It was Pandora who came up with the answer to JJ's question. She didn't even have to say anything, really. She was just the only one to walk away with any sense of purpose, like she knew where she was going. Pandora felt people follow her with a sense of confusion; she wasn't really meant to lead anyone anywhere. She was a follower, Pandora Moon—a bouncy, exuberant, simple, and ultimately unremarkable follower.

At least today she was the follower who knew where the cars were. Simple came in handy sometimes.

/

Pandora was not a girl to whom anyone paid a lot of attention. They _noticed_ her, sure, but no one really asked after her; no one really wondered how she was doing. They wondered where Effy was instead, because Pandora always knew that. Effy used to wonder about Pandora, but then she went off the deep end and Freddie died, and Pandora got pushed to the back burner. Even now, as people were filing out of the cars and into Freddie's shed, she didn't get so much as a backward glance. She was used to it, and used to pretending it didn't matter (pretending—at least that was one thing she and Effy had in common), but today felt like a good day to be sad, and so she was. Sad, angry, and a little bit hurt.

Just not enough to stop pretending.

"Sorry about the shed," Karen mumbled half-heartedly. "I got angry."

"It's okay, Karen," Emily promptly responded, ever the pacifier. "It looks…nice."

"No, it bloody well doesn't," Effy murmured petulantly.

"Who's up for some Twister?" Pandora quickly cut in. "I haven't got the mat, but we could make our own out of paper. It could be a flippin' good time…"

"Panda, I don't think anyone's in the mood for Twister," Katie said quietly.

"Oh. Okay." She deflated a little bit. "I'm only saying, no need to be all mopey all the time. We could all do with a bit of cheering up." She smiled brightly. No one returned the favor.

"Panda, we're all mopey because Freddie _died_ ," Naomi stressed. "We just buried him barely an hour ago." Emily nudged Naomi with her shoulder as she shushed her and shot her a harsh look.

"Yeah, I know," Pandora said, her smile faltering. "But," and here she chose her words carefully because no one really wanted to hear what she was about to say, "it's not like it's the end of the world, is it? We're still living."

"What," Effy croaked. "What did you say?"

Pandora swallowed nervously. "Well, it's the truth, ain't it? It's no use moping around when we could be doing a lot of other things, like smoking a spliff or having a party. I throw whizzer parties, you know." She glanced around the room and risked a smile. Only Emily smiled sympathetically back. Katie threw her a look that was half amused, half exasperated.

"Panda, I don't think…" Thomas tried to ease the tension, but Effy cut him off.

"No, let her finish, _Thommo_ ," she said menacingly. "Clearly she knows the best thing to do when someone you love fucking _dies_!"

"Eff, I didn't—"

"Of course you did, Panda. I bet there are a lot of things that you mean to say to me but you're too afraid." Effy's eyes were icy blue, cold and calculating and Pandora almost took a step back. (She couldn't help but think that the last time she'd seen Effy's eyes on her like this, it had been over a boy, too). "You never tell me the truth, do you? You make me feel bad for not knowing about your mum or your fucking dad or your whole sodding family, but you still run to me whenever you have problems with Thomas here. I can't be _that_ bad of a friend, can I? Not if you keep coming back." Her voice was shaking with tears that Pandora knew she'd never let fall in public. "You may know a lot of the shit that goes on in my life, but you know _nothing_ about me. You're useless and naïve and you look fucking ridiculous all the time."

Katie stood up. "Now, hang on a minute, Eff…"

"Stay out of this, Katie," Effy growled.

"Guys, come on, this really isn't the time," Emily pleaded.

"Think you're gonna make it go away by being nice, Ems? Still the doormat, I see."

"Hey, leave her out of it, Effy!" Naomi protested.

"What, like you're so righteous? Screwed any girls lately?" Naomi, surprisingly, didn't lash out. Instead, her chin trembled and she sat back down, glaring daggers at Effy.

"Did you know that there are five stages of grief?" JJ slurred in one breath, trying to calm everyone. "One of them is anger, which, I'm guessing, is the one we're all at now, considering the raised voices and the fact that no one looks very happy. Which they shouldn't anyway; we've just come back from a funeral, but still, this doesn't seem like the best way to honor Freddie's memory."

"You're gonna take their side?" Effy blurted in disbelief. "You just buried your best friend, JJ, and they don't know what that means! God, keep to your statistics, J, because at least they try to cover up the fact that you're a social idiot."

"You're all idiots!" Pandora screeched. She turned to face Katie. "You're too afraid to be alone. Well, guess what—everyone is! You're a really nice person when you want to be, so just get over yourself. And you"—she addressed JJ—"you're not a freak, okay? You've got a girlfriend who has a kid. Who cares? You know a lot about everything—no one gives a flying rat's arse. It's a defense mechanism; we've all got them. You two," she said, turning on Emily and Naomi, "you two are the most infuriating people ever. Naomi cheated; that was stupid. Emily went on a six-month drug binge; that was stupid, too. Guess what? Everyone's stupid. So just be stupid together because you're miserable without each other and it drives us flippin' bonkers. I don't need to say anything about Cook because he's the only one out of all of you that knows he's a screw-up, and he's a decent person under that, too. You're a good man, Cookie," she said with a small smile, "so stop loving someone who will never want you back."

She finally whipped around to Effy, who, for once, wasn't smirking. Her mouth was set in a hard line, but her eyes gave away her shock. They were wide and disbelieving.

"You think I'm naïve, Effy? You think I don't know anything? You're not the only one who notices things. Didn't notice me all year; you were too busy shagging Freddie, or mooning over Freddie, or going crazy because of Freddie and I was the one who was just there. You _are_ my best friend, Effy, but you don't appreciate me at all. I'm always _just there._ I know everything about you; I know that you love everyone and you don't want to show it because it makes you terrified. You think you're so cool because you're all mysterious and shadowy—well, you're not. It drives me madder than an elephant with a bag of empty peanut shells, it does! That's why you're always alone. You're the most scared out of all of us, Effy, and I'm the only one who notices. That doesn't make me useless; it makes me smart, so just sod off if you can't handle the truth, Eff, because I can. You probably didn't notice, but I'm going off to America in a few months. I thought I'd spend my summer with my best friend, but apparently she's turned into a right grumpy bugger."

Pandora got up and walked slowly to the door. "Sorry, Karen," she mumbled, genuinely apologetic. "I miss Freds a lot."

She left them watching her walk away, and this time, she didn't turn around and look to Effy for approval. She just left the shed and went away. For once, she knew where she was going.

/

(When she was four, Pandora's mother had told her something that stuck permanently in her mind. They were at a carnival, and Pandora had come in second place at the sack race. She immediately sat down and started crying because first prize was a great shiny trophy, and she'd wanted it. Her mother came over and rubbed her back and said to her, "Pandora, honey, second is always just as good as first."

Her mum handed her the second place medallion, and Pandora spent the rest of her life pretending it was just as shiny as the trophy.)

Today, Pandora eschewed the title of second best and focused on first. She sat at the docks and hoped Effy could handle being second, at least for a day.

/

Eventually, Effy did follow her. Pandora knew she would because she knew Effy.

"I'm sorry, Panda," she said quietly. "I just miss him, you know?"

Pandora nodded. "I know. But I miss _you_. I miss my best friend. You're all I've got, Eff. You can't just bugger off on me now."

Effy smiled sadly. "What do you need me for, Panda? You know all about surfing and turfing now."

"Yeah, I do!" Pandora exclaimed, oblivious. "Me and Thommo have been making monkey like crazy the past few days; he's really good at it and everything…oh." She stopped once she saw the look on Effy's face. "I need you for more than that, Eff. I need you to tell me when I'm oversharing, because Mum says I do that a lot, apparently, and it's something I need to work on to"—she paused, trying to remember the exact words—"integrate myself into normal society." She smiled proudly at the recollection.

Effy laughed. "Panda, I think you function better in society than I do right now."

Pandora shook her head vigorously. "Oh, no, I don't. See, you know how to get all the boys and make people like you, and people look at me funny because I'm hopeless and overexcited all the time."

Effy entwined her fingers with Pandora's. "You're not hopeless, Panda. Everyone who knows you likes you, and everyone else just doesn't know you yet."

Pandora smiled. "Does that mean we can be bestest chums again?"

"Yeah, it does."

Pandora scooted closer to Effy and leaned her head on Effy's shoulder as they both watched the world. It wasn't so far away, the other side of the docks, but it seemed like it wasn't real. There were people over there getting on with their lives, oblivious to the two girls across the way who had just repaired the greatest friendship of all. Pandora wanted to skip with Effy everywhere and show her off; she wanted to tell everyone how excited she was to have her best friend back. But Effy wasn't that kind of girl, and Pandora had to learn how to appreciate that a little. So instead, she let Effy light a fag and kept quiet when the smoke burned her eyes. It was time for a little quiet.

"Panda, I have to go."

Pandora jumped up. "But you just got here, Eff! We could sit some more, or we could get some hot chocolate, 'cause I know how that always makes you feel better when you're sad."

Effy smiled and shook her head. "No, I mean I have to go for good. As in leave Bristol, at least for a little while."

Pandora hesitated, not knowing what to say. "Well, can we get that hot chocolate first?" she asked nervously. "Telling people off always makes me wicked thirsty."

"Hot chocolate sounds great, Panda." Effy stood up and took Pandora's hand, smiling as they walked away.

"You have to promise to keep in touch with me, Eff. You're not getting away from me that easy."

"I will, Panda. You're all I've got, too."

"The coffee place is pretty close to here. Can we skip there?"

"I'm not really one for skipping."

"Oh, you'll be great, I promise! I'm really good at skipping, and everyone else is too when they skip with me."

"Fine. But only on the way there. On the way back, we walk."

"Whizzer."


	14. Cook, part iii

It was time. As soon as Cook woke up that morning, that perfect, sunny morning five days after he found Freddie, he knew it was time. It wasn't an extraordinary day, not by any means. If it were any other summer, he'd be smoking in the shed with Freds and JJ, laughing over a spliff about their performances on exams, or the latest shag, or whatever antics they'd gotten into. If it were any other summer, Cook would be outside enjoying the weather and loving the world; he'd be living just like any other 18-year-old should.

But it wasn't any other summer, and Cook wasn't any other 18-year-old. He was older than he felt. He was wiser, more jaded, and definitely worse for the wear. And that's how he knew. He knew not because his bruises had faded into yellow tinges, making him look jaundiced; he knew not because he could finally move his knuckles without wincing. He knew because after eleven years of making mistakes, he'd finally acquired a sense of timing. He knew when it was the right time to do the right thing.

Today was the day Cook went back to jail, and he accepted that as soon as he woke up.

/

There was a knock on the banister as Cook put on his shirt.

"Hey," Naomi said softly, carrying a steaming mug of coffee. "Today's it, yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied, jamming his foot into a sock. "How'd you figure that?"

"Thought you'd stay around for the funeral and then fuck off. Pretty much your style, right? Run away when anything gets hard?" From anyone else's mouth, Naomi's words would have been hurtful. Today, however, Cook took solace in them. She was joking anyway.

He smiled. "Fuck, I'm gonna miss you, Blondie."

"Right back at you," she said, her smile matching his. "Listen, I might have told people that today was the day you went back, so I figure we'll give them a couple of hours to get here and then we can leave. Mostly everyone's here anyway, so it's only a few that we're waiting on."

"Right, yeah, sure. It's, uh, it's Karen, and JJ, maybe Panda Pops and her bloke…missing anyone?"

"Yeah, um, and Effs," Naomi said quietly. "She didn't come ho—here, last night. I told Panda, who said she'd tell her. Is that alright?"

Cook nodded. "Yeah, yeah, it's fine. Thanks, Naomikins."

"No problem." She nodded and walked away, pausing once more before she went upstairs. She seemed on the verge of words, but Cook didn't need them. He knew it all anyway.

/

Pandora got there first, lugging a heavy bag but without Thomas in tow. Cook was a little surprised when Effy didn't come with her either.

"Hi, Cookie!" she yelped, the melancholy of the previous day obviously forgotten. "Naomi said you were leaving today and to come round, so I thought I'd get here super early just in case you needed the company."

Cook couldn't help the smile that wormed its way onto his face. "Could always use some of that."

She plonked down next to him on the couch. "Whizzer! I could tell you a funny story, if you like—I know some real good ones because they've all happened to me 'cause I get myself into some crazy situations and I go ape a lot, 'cept for if someone's there to stop me, which there usually isn't. D'ya want to hear one?"

Cook almost laughed. "Can you show me how to do any more of your board games or whatever?"

Pandora giggled and swung her giant bag around to her feet. "Super! I brought a lot of them 'cause I didn't know how long you'd be sitting around for. Do you want to do Twister again? Twister's just brill; it's my favorite one."

Cook smiled and reached for a spliff. "Yeah, Panda. Show me that one again."

/

Karen showed up next. She smiled as she watched Cook and Pandora twist themselves into ridiculous positions. Cook smiled back at her when he finally noticed her. He made a move to extricate himself from under Pandora's leg, but Karen shook her head.

There would be time for words later. Today, it was summer and Cook was eighteen.

/

By the time JJ came around, Cook and Pandora had coerced Karen into joining them, and they were one giant mass of tangled limbs and fingers. They'd poked each other in the eyes enough to bruise (and Cook secretly rebuked them for that, because his had just gone away), but when they saw the nervous boy standing before them, they stopped. This time, Cook did remove himself from the game, and he ushered JJ into the kitchen before speaking.

"I'm sorry you have to go away, Cook," JJ said quietly.

"I'm not," Cook replied. "Has to be done."

"Yes, well…" JJ started. He clasped his hands on the table and straightened his head. "Yes. It does."

Cook busied himself with picking at a dent in the table, figuring that if he knew what to do with his hands, he might know what to do with his mouth. It wasn't working.

"I don't…I don't know if I can trust you again, Cook," JJ started slowly. "I don't know if things can go back to how they were before. There's just so much that's changed since…Freddie, and I just don't know what to do anymore."

"Welcome to life, Jay," Cook said softly.

"Yes, I suppose."

"So why are you here, then?"

"I'm here because you're still Cook, and I'm still JJ. You're still the first one who thought my magic tricks were something…magical."

Cook smiled wistfully. "D'you remember that first one you tried, with that tadpole and the matches?"

JJ's face fell instantly. "Mum says I'm not allowed to talk about that day anymore. It doesn't do anything productive for my stress levels."

Cook laughed. "Yeah, well, I never forgot it. It was pretty cool to an eight-year-old."

Something sparked in JJ's eyes. "You thought it was cool? Something I did?"

"Yeah, man," Cook chuckled. "Still do. Otherwise, what'd be the point in keeping you around?" He flashed JJ a patented Cook grin, and JJ smiled back.

"I don't know if I can come visit, Cook. Mum might not like to drive to jail, and I have to admit, it gives me the willies."

"Don't sweat it, J-man." He stopped picking at the table and looked up. "Fancy a game of Twister?"

/

By 11:30, there were more people playing Twister than the mat was designed for, and no one was left to spin. It had dissolved into a game of "Which person can Cook put into the most lewd position?" So far, Katie seemed to be winning by a landslide, much to her dismay (and Cook's amusement).

Naomi was the only one not playing. She'd come around almost every half hour on the dot, locking eyes with Cook. Each time, there was a greater sense of urgency in hers, and it got to the point where Cook started feeling guilty every time he saw her blond locks from his peripheral vision. When he couldn't stand it anymore, he got up. No one said a word, but they all seemed to know that the fun and games were over. It was time to get back to real life.

Karen left; she and Cook had said all they needed to say to each other, plus he knew that when he was allowed visitors, she'd be the first to show up. They were connected, Karen and Cook—forever.

It was hard for Cook to say goodbye to JJ, but his mum had come to pick him up and she didn't like to wait. (She also didn't much like Cook, but on this day, neither boy cared about that).

"Like I said, I don't know about visits, Cook, but I will write you letters. I like writing; it seems very therapeutic."

Cook smiled. "Jaykins, since when have I ever liked reading, man? Fucking boring shit, ain't it?" He pulled JJ into a fierce hug. "But if you do send me a letter, I will read it. Anything you've got to say is worth hearing, yeah?" He spoke softly, so just JJ could hear. JJ nodded against his shoulder and Cook clapped him on the back.

"Right, JJ, your mum's waiting outside. You better go; you know what happens when she has to honk."

JJ panicked. "Oh, yes, that's not good. She doesn't like using the horn. I'd better go." He bade a hasty goodbye to everyone and ran out the door, only to run back in two seconds later. "Um, bye, Cook," he fumbled.

Cook raised his hand in a parting wave. "It's cool, JJ. See you soon, mate."

JJ nodded briskly. A car horn honked, and JJ winced. "Oh, bobbins." He flew out the door again. Cook watched the empty space where JJ had been standing; it somehow seemed happier than it had that morning.

"I've gotta go, Cookie," Pandora called out impatiently. "I'd say a better goodbye but I've got Thommo now and I don't know if you can touch people without groping."

"See ya, Panda." She bounded out the door. They could hear her running all the way down the street, her shoes clopping on the cement. Cook strained his ears until he was sure he couldn't hear her anymore.

He looked up again to see three pairs of eyes staring at him. "What, do you pussies need to get in a single-file line or some shit? Stop fucking staring and say your goodbyes or whatever."

Naomi and Emily smiled. Katie scoffed.

"Tit grab for the road, Katiekins?" Cook teased. "Gotta give me something after two years."

"Fuck off, Cook," Katie snarled. "Not even in your dreams."

Cook grinned. "Too late for that, babe. I've had some top-notch dreams about you."

Katie wanted to smile, he could see that, but two years of disgust and a hyper-developed sense of pride wouldn't let her. "Sorry for punching you," she said instead.

"Ah, no problem," he dismissed. "Just the way I like it—feisty."

This time, Katie did smile. "Wanker."

"Well, at least Emily likes me, don't you, muff monkey?"

Emily smirked. "I think you're a complete wanker, Cook. But at least you're a bit exciting."

Cook looked proudly at Katie. "There, see? One of you twins has her priorities straight."

Emily and Katie exited the room with small waves and smiles, and Cook was left with the one person he really didn't want to say goodbye to. He and Naomi stood awkwardly by the door, both knowing that they had to leave sometime, but neither wanting to.

"Guess we should better go," Naomi finally said.

"Yeah, probably," Cook agreed. "How are we getting there?

"Emily said I could take her moped. I'm a bit crap at driving it, but it's not too far."

Cook nodded. "Cool. Let's get on with it then, yeah?"

"Yeah, gimme one sec." Naomi ran into the kitchen and came back a moment later, still stuffing something into her pocket.

"What's that?" Cook asked.

Naomi shook her head. "Later. Let's just go."

/

Cook didn't want to get off the moped. He wanted to stay longer and let the wind whip his eyes into a squint; he wanted to keep clinging tightly to Naomi because she made him feel warm. For the first time since he'd known her, he didn't think about what it would be like to fuck her. Cook would never admit to something as embarrassing as sentimentality, but all that romantic shit—it mattered, right? Sometimes the only thing that could save you was a warm body, someone who wasn't afraid to touch you when it mattered most. During those few moments when Naomi was valiantly struggling to keep all three parties alive—herself, Cook, and the moped—she was his redeemer. Every minute, for nineteen minutes, she rescued him. He thought that if he could wrap his arms around Naomi and lean on her back for nineteen minutes every day, the world wouldn't seem so angry.

But the world _was_ angry, and most importantly, angry at him. It had to end sometime, and all too quickly Cook found himself standing in front of the police station. Naomi parked the moped and got off it despondently. Cook just got off.

"You've gotta visit me, right, Naomikins?" Cook murmured gently. "Gotta keep me up to date with you and your girl."

Naomi smiled, though her eyes looked wetter than usual. "Cook," she scolded.

He nodded. "Yeah, yeah, alright. I've already said I'll miss you, haven't I?"

"Yeah, but this is different."

"I know." He put his hands on his hips and looked determinedly at her, almost like a stern older brother about to give a lecture. "You don't let her go, Blondie. Okay? You don't ever let her go."

Naomi nodded, finally letting the tears fall slowly down her cheeks. She was a proud person, and it broke Cook's heart to see her in pain. She hugged him with her entire being; for the first time in six days, she was clinging to him like it was impossible to ever dream of letting go. Today, she was taking comfort, not giving it. Cook hugged her back just as fiercely.

"I won't let you go either, Cook," she muttered into his shirt.

"I think you've got to if I want to go inside," he laughed.

"You know what I mean."

He wrapped his arms just a little tighter around her body. "Yeah, I do."

/

The inside of the police station was dingy and sad. Cook could see four officers, and none of them looked like they wanted to be there.

The fat one sitting at his desk was the first to notice Cook. "Can I help you?" he asked. A glop of mustard squirted out of his sandwich.

"Yeah, you guys are looking for me."

"What's your name?" the officer said monotonously.

"James Cook."

Suddenly, the fat cop's eyes looked victorious and smug. "Finally come to your senses, have you?"

Cook looked back at him and relished the fact that he hated how Cook's eyes twinkled teasingly. "Nope. This summer's just really boring."

It was worth being thrown in a cell.

/

Four hours later, Cook was sitting in the cafeteria, debating if he wanted to eat the food that they had managed to turn grey (even the vegetables). He'd been booked and processed, yanked out of clothes and frisked—he'd been manhandled, and throughout it all he'd wanted to laugh. A date had been set for a sentencing hearing, some four days in the future, but Cook wasn't nervous at all. He'd get what he deserved, and hopefully no more than that.

A boy about his age sat down across from him. He was mousy with wild blond hair. He seemed to be having the same inner struggle about his food as Cook.

"Some fucking food they've got, eh?" he mumbled.

"Yeah," Cook agreed. "I'm pretty sure pasta isn't supposed to be this color."

"Well the sauce sure isn't," the boy said. Nonetheless, he shoveled a forkful into his mouth. He grimaced and played with his food for the rest of the meal.

"I remember you," he said as he arranged his spaghetti in a mound at the center of his plate. "You're Cook, right?"

Cook opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. He thought of tears, and hugs, and a house with a sad blue door. He thought of white shoes tinged with red, and a bloody face that wasn't his. He thought about a stupid kid and baseball bats and a small red notebook that weighed two tons in his hands. He thought of the note that Naomi had pressed into his pocket when she hugged him, the note that he had already committed to memory. _Sorry I can't see you off, Cook. I won't visit. I'll think of Freds for you. Maybe when I'm not so dangerous, I'll come back._ He thought of piercing blue eyes that didn't belong to a brunette, because the brunette was destruction, and he changed his mind.

"Nah, man. I'm James."


End file.
